


Curses, Foiled Again!

by DixieDale



Series: The (Mis)Adventures of Countess Liliann Moreau [1]
Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas, Hogan's Heroes
Genre: Halloween, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:48:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27183379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Ah, October!  That first hint of crispness in the air, a preview of the changing of seasons.  Time to contemplate the chillier months ahead, making sure you are ready for what is to come.  And, what with the month including Halloween, it's the time of year with a reputation for delivering a few surprises, maybe a nightmare or two, and this year was no exception.   Well, maybe a LITTLE bit of an exception considering who was involved.  When a Transylvanian countess decides she needs a vacation, enlisting the aid of a cousin with deluded aspirations of being a travel 'influencer', things get interesting for Colonel Robert Hogan and his Command Crew, along with Lieutenant Craig Garrison and his team.  Add in an ancient curse, stir well, and let the night games begin!
Series: The (Mis)Adventures of Countess Liliann Moreau [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1986973
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Germany - Stalag 13

"Colonel Hogan? London on the set; they have a job for us, but they insist on talking to you in person." 

The sergeant's tone was respectful, even if the expression on his face was a little apprehensive as he opened that door and stuck his head through to deliver the message. Hogan had already indicated he really didn't want any interruptions, had a scheme he was working on and wanted to focus on that. 

Still, it was Kinch's job to watch the radio, the wire machine, and his job to fetch Hogan if he was needed. The colonel might get ticked if Kinch interrupted him, but he'd be even more annoyed if Kinch didn't.

Besides, Kinch was more than a little curious. No, not so much about Hogan's plans; he figured he find out what that was all about sooner or later. But for the guy on the other end of the wire to insist on the colonel, that was interesting. More often than not, London was just as content to give Kinch the details to pass along, only having direct communication with the colonel when it was top-drawer stuff. Maybe there was something big in the works.

Hogan sighed, put down the brush he was using to smooth his hair before visiting Klink to con him into a work detail that wasn't really needed by the camp but would serve a few vital purposes for HIM. 

Those included allowing for the smuggling in of transmitter repair parts, along with a new supply of herbs for LeBeau to alleviate that tense pout their resident chef was currently indulging in after Carter's mouse had ravaged the Frenchman's stash, and most importantly (or at least AS important), an opportunity for a little releasing of Hogan's own tension via that new female Underground contact known as Bluebell. Hogan wasn't sure what was under that blue cloak yet, but from the outlines, he figured it was something at least as appealing as her face! While the guys were distracting the guards on that work detail, he was going to find out for sure! 

{"The nice thing about being Papa Bear was that the women don't say 'no'. Nothing like a sure thing!"} he chuckled to himself. 

He put that 'not saying no' mostly down to his good looks and polished charm. However, if pressed, he would have had to admit that his being in the position of knowing who they were, them knowing all it would take would be one word (true, false or something in between) dropped into the ear of the wrong person, and they'd be facing various unpleasant possibilities, up to and including a Gestapo interview - well, that didn't hurt. Not that he would necessarily DO that, considering it could hurt the war effort and probably tick off Rene, the local Underground leader, but them knowing the possibilities sure didn't hurt his chances.

{"And really, no harm done; most of them have a smile on their face afterwards. And if they don't, all it takes is one look, a cocked-eyebrow, maybe a little frown, and they plaster one on quick enough. Close enough for government work, as the old saying goes."}

"Never a minute to myself," he joked as he followed Kinch down the ladder to the radio room in the tunnels below. "Don't they know there's a war on?"

But when he heard what London had to say, he wasn't too upset. In fact, by the time he finished listening to that briefing, he was smiling like he was ten years old, it was his birthday, and he'd just been presented with a pony.

Or that's how Kinch described it to the others later, once Hogan headed back in to finish his primping.

"Wow! A pony! That'd be neat! You know, we were talking about what to get him for his birthday, maybe . . ."

"Andrew," Newkirk drawled from where he was sprawled out along the top bunk reading, "stubble it! We aint getting the colonel a pony! Kinch, w'at was 'e so excited about? Someone gift wrapping Betty Grable and airlifting 'er in to our 'appy little abode? If they are, give a bloke a 'eads-up! I might need to shave."

Kinch choked down a laugh. "Not exactly, Newkirk, but pretty darned close. We're to be expecting a lady, a Countess if you can believe that. We're to keep her safe for a couple of days til the exit team can get her out of Germany. And according to the guy on the other end of the radio, she's a real doll. Supposedly one of the most beautiful women in Europe."

Suddenly he had everyone's attention, in fact was now surrounded by everyone housed in Barracks 2 so fast he had to step back to avoid being trampled. Newkirk had even abandoned his bunk and that book he'd read for probably only the sixth time. 

For Stalag 13, a place where entertainment possibilities were limited to say the least, a book you'd only read six times was practically brand new, since the men tried hard to read closely enough each time to enjoy the experience, but not so closely as to ruin their next run through. They'd picked up that habit from Olsen, who'd always swore he used to do the same with the movies, back when he worked in the movie house when he was a kid, sometimes closing his eyes or covering his ears, actively try to miss enough that he'd still be surprised by some stuff on his third sit-through. 

In this particular case, with that battered copy of 'The Mysterious Affair at Styles', someone had been kind enough to further the effort at willful ignorance by removing the last page of each chapter, except for the last chapter, where the entire last half was missing. Instead, tucked inside the back cover, there was a note offering to 'loan' the unhappy reader the missing pages in return for payment in cigarettes. 

So far no one had followed the detailed instructions for the trade-off, so it was still unknown who that enterprising individual might be. Those in camp were torn between thanking him for prolonging their enjoyment of the book and tearing him a new one for making their complete satisfaction such an illusory thing. The camp were also torn in their suspicions regarding that individual's identity, with the name 'Peter Newkirk' showing up far too often for the Englishman's peace of mind. Seems tempers were running a little hot on the subject.

Hearing the details of the call took everyone's mind off the literary mystery, and now had the guys eager for the upcoming visit, even with the unwelcome, but expected, knowledge that the Gestapo was probably looking for the Countess and that might cause an extra visit or two from Major Hochstetter. They figured that, for the presence of a beautiful woman in camp, even for a day or two, maybe letting the scent of perfume mitigate the inevitable and ever-present male funk, that was a reasonable trade-off.

"I'll be 'appy to share my 'umble quarters, and w'atever else she might be interested in my sharing. Got plenty to offer, all top-notch, if I do say so myself," Newkirk was quick to exclaim with an air of noble self-sacrifice, although that offer was quickly shot down by the others with a notable lack of appreciation OR respect. 

"If she is of European royalty, she would hardly be interested in you OR your quarters, Pierre, or anything else you might have to offer," LeBeau scoffed. "Now, a true Parisian, a man of some culture and sophistication, someone like myself, that would be a different story."

Carter frowned, perplexed. "I thought you were all wound up over that White Russian dame, Marya. Called it 'true love' and everything. I thought you said for a Frenchman, love, true love, was everything - well, almost everything. Other than La Belle France," ignoring LeBeau's pained wince at Carter's flat mid-western pronounciation. "And fine cooking. And . . . Well, anyhow - should you even be THINKING about another woman, LeBeau?"

Back when he was still engaged, thinking about another girl had sure made CARTER feel guilty! Thinking about, smiling at, dancing with, sharing a drink or meal with, going back to her flat and sharing her bed or maybe couch - all that made HIM feel real guilty! Made him decide never again! That is, he felt guilty right up til the next time, when he'd get distracted and forget to feel guilty, at least until afterwards, when he was back with his unit, where it caught up with him. But still! (Of course, in keeping with his 'little brother' image with the guys, he let them get a firm, if quite mistaken, impression of 'never had!', not 'never again'. Not only was it better for the role he'd taken on, he found it amusing as heck!). 

LeBeau gave a remarkably lecherous smile for someone with such a cherub-like face. "I may be desperately, passionately, eternally in love with my beautiful Marya, Andre, but I am still French, and I am not yet dead. Those are not contradictions, I promise you, not to a man of discernment. Never mind, one day I will explain all of that to you."

"Yeah, Andrew, w'en you grow up," Newkirk teased. "Or w'en you can look at that drawing the colonel pulls out, the one labeled 'Woman', without blushing. W'ichever comes first. Acourse, we'll all probably be white-'aired and walking with a cane before then, but eventually."

That was a little harsh, everyone thought. Yeah, the sergeant DID blush like crazy every single time that drawing came out, but he still spent his fair share of time with the girly mags that made the rounds. Why one - a chalk outline - made him blush, and the other - containing extremely explicit, highly detailed photographs - didn't, that was something only Carter knew, and he wasn't talking.

"Well, don't get your hopes up, any of you. The Colonel got his orders straight from the brass; we're to treat the Countess with kid gloves," Kinch informed the drooling men.

Newkirk smirked, obviously not taking that as any great discouragement. Well, one didn't survive in the East End of London by being easily discouraged, quickly set aside from a goal. If that took tweaking the goal a little, so be it, as he now illustrated.

"That's fine with me, Kinch. Everyone's got their kink. She likes doing it with someone wearing gloves, I aint above that. Seems I saw a right nice pair in the inventory the other day, leather, all soft and smooth, thin enough you could still pick a pocket with them on. Could use those."

There was an oddly thoughtful quality to Englishman's smile, like he was not only considering the possibilities, but was somehow tasting that experience (so to speak) in his mind. His next words confirmed that.

"Seems a pity, acourse; got lovely 'ands I do and know just 'ow to use them to the best advantage, but could be she 'as a point. No 'arm in kicking things up a notch or two. Accessories, as they're called, can add a touch of spice to the w'ole matter. Knew a black-'aired Duchess, back in the day; she 'ad a few kinks of 'er own. 'Ad this big fur muff with 'eavy braided silk ties, and you'd never BELIEVE . . ."

Olsen snickered, "yeah, right, Newkirk. You and a Duchess, I can see that, sure! And besides, you believe any of us are going to get as much as a good look at this one, even if she isn't a Duchess, just a Countess? I mean, really? With Colonel Hogan around? He'll have her slid away somewhere private before we get a whiff of her perfume."

While they all admitted the truth of that depressing statement, still, as Andrew Carter staunchly proclaimed, "where there's life, there's hope. And 'Hope springs eternal', my mom always said. She'd say that all the time. I always had this mental picture of 'Hope' as a white rabbit, maybe on a pogo stick, ya know? Hey, maybe that's what we can get the colonel for his birthday!" he said, his eyes glowing with excitement.

"A rabbit, Andrew. You want to give 'im a rabbit," Newkirk said in an extremely flat and level tone intended to firmly depress Andrew's enthusiasm. If the tone of his voice didn't do the trick, the expression on his face should have. No, no enthusiasm there for that idea in the least!

Newkirk really didn't want Andrew to be bringing in any more rabbits. Not that a rabbit wasn't better than some things Andrew had tried to sneak in - Newkirk shuddered to think of that snake, or the bat, not to mention that nasty-tempered badger - but let's face it, the lad got attached and there was all the resulting sadness when said rabbit decided to hightail it back to freedom, and who was stuck with trying to cheer him up again but yours truly, Peter Newkirk. That took a lot out of a bloke when all that 'cheering up' just wasn't a natural part of his makeup, not to mention the danger to his tough-guy image. He ruefully admitted that Andrew Carter was, had been right from the beginning, a real danger to that image; he didn't understand it, but it was what it was, and he tried his best to cope.

Andrew snorted in scorn. "Heck no! What would the colonel do with a rabbit? I mean, I'D like one, sure, but probably not him. NO! We could get him a pogo stick!"

The silence and incredulous looks he was getting from the others just showed, in his estimation, that they didn't have nearly the imagination he did. 

Carter already knew that, of course; didn't understand it, but felt vaguely sorry for them for that reason. Boy, they sure missed a lot being that way! 

Why, he could just see Colonel Hogan pogo'ing around the compound! It would be great exercise and they could even work out a code that he could use to communicate with someone across the compound or even outside the fence! {"Three pogos in one direction, then a pause, then two in another. Why, he could say almost ANYTHING that way!"}

And another advantage would be that it would more than likely have Kommandant Klink totally flabbergasted! 

{"Why, whadda ya wanna bet the colonel could even convince Klink that that was the absolutely latest thing?? Convince him to get a stick of his own!"} 

Carter giggled at the thought of the two officers, each on their own pogo stick, merrily hopping around the camp, Klink trying to keep up with Hogan, struggling not only to keep his balance but also to keep his monocle in place. {"Boy, the look on his face! I'd just HAVE to get a picture!"}

"Boy! Wouldn't that be something!" he sighed with a huge smile spreading across his face.

Since he hadn't bothered to vocalize any of that charming scenario, he couldn't really expect much positive feedback, and he didn't get much. Well, other than that casual reproving slap on the back of his head from Newkirk, and that was only to be expected. Carter didn't mind those, in fact considered them more in the category of love-taps than anything else. Usually he'd have been right too, literally, no matter the jeering words that usually accompanied said slaps.

Meanwhile Hogan was going over the information he'd received from London. It was all very interesting, and for a change, shouldn't be all that much of a challenge. After all, some other crew was in charge of escorting her to the closest town. All he had to do was collect the lady from her table in the hotel dining room, very casually, get her here and keep her here, safe, for a couple of days, then send her off with a different crew being sent from London to collect her. Or maybe the same crew, but with some downtime between the Countess arriving and leaving again. He'd kinda missed some of that while he was trying to wrap his mind around that vivid description of their prospective guest.

No, London hadn't given him many details about either the delivery crew or the pickup crew, if they were two separate groups, or else he hadn't heard them, and frankly he didn't really care. There were other details much more interesting - like that description he'd been given of the Countess Liliann Moreau.

He hadn't been given the opportuity to turn down the assignment, of course, which was par for the course. But why on earth would he WANT to turn down this particular job? The description he'd been given of the Countess was enough to give him a firm, enthusiastic, almost painfully hard 'incentive'.

"Twenty-three or thereabouts, long dark hair, the most bewitching pale blue eyes, well, almost silver actually, with an Oriental cast to them, full ruby lips that men rave about! And her figure, ah, her figure! There are no photographs, unfortunately, but I've seen a miniature that was painted of her dressed in some historical costume, and a vision out of a man's dreams, she is, no less."

Meadows was visibly stirred, even over the radio! In fact, Hogan got the impression Meadows possibly replayed his view of that painting on a nightly basis, at least when he didn't have other companionship, and he would not have been mistaken.

Yes, that description had Hogan smiling as he put together the mission to shelter the luscious Countess from any and all perils. Of course, that would mean keeping her secreted in his own quarters and making some excuse to Klink why he was out of pocket, but so be it. 

His men were interested, of course; they WERE men, after all. But in reality, the chances of one of them getting to do more than touch the enticing female's hand was negligible, not while Hogan was around. 

Carter had even admitted as much when Hogan gave them a stern cautionary lecture before he left to meet up with the lady in question. The Countess would be stashed in Hogan's quarters "for safety's sake", and the guys being strictly prohibited from even opening that wooden door. Klink had been fed some cock-and-bull story, though Hogan hadn't shared just what that entailed, just he was exempt from roll call and other duties for the next couple of days, and really didn't want any interruptions except for when LeBeau delivered meals as requested. Only an onslaught from the Gestapo was considered enough to warrant any such interruption, that was plain to see.

"Well, to the Colonel belong the spoils! I think it's in the regulations somewhere, you know?" Carter had said with cheerful resignation. He hadn't been expecting anything else anyway, and though he'd never admit it out loud, just wasn't that vested in the possibility.

Oh, he liked seeing a pretty woman as much as anyone else, if for nothing else than the novelty in a camp full of guys, but even when he'd had more opportunity for looking around, he'd never set his eyes that far upward. {"I mean, a Countess, gee!!!"}. The highest HE'D ever aspired to was that banker's daughter, her doing her patriotic bit by acting as temporary tea girl at that little shop outside the camp where he'd taken his basic training, and it turned out she wasn't interested in anything less than a real officer anyway. 

He found it kinda funny that now, even if he ran across her again and she WAS interested, he probably wouldn't be. Unlike LeBeau, HE figured 'true love' really should put a damper on all that, even if the object of that 'true love' wasn't someone he'd figured it would be back when he was younger. Even if he couldn't even say anything yet, couldn't tell that 'true love' that that's what it was.

Newkirk snorted, seeing the smug agreement in Hogan's eyes. "Well, even if it ain't, you can bet that's the way it's going to 'appen! The Colonel and females, not like any of US are going to queer 'is pitch! Out of our league, you are, sir," he'd said with a charming smile. 

If there was a trace of bite behind that smile, it wasn't sharp enough for him to be called on it, not with that guileless look in his eyes. Newkirk had heard a bit, from Klink's secretaries, from Tiger; had seen enough to wonder just how all those females REALLY felt about being the focus of Hogan's attentions. Well, he knew how he felt about sometimes being the focus of those same attentions; to say it was a mixed blessing was the least of it.

Carter was trying to look at the bright side. So they weren't going to get the girl; he had never thought otherwise, and frankly, he wasn't up to someone like that anyhow. Maybe Newkirk or Kinch, maybe LeBeau, though he figured Olsen would only make a show of joining in any chase. From what he knew, Olsen got more action and with more variety than anyone, right up there with the Colonel, though it was probably best not to say that right out loud. It worked in everyone's best interest if their 'outside man' kept a very low profile.

The thing that was really upsetting to Andrew was that Hogan had said this would probably rule out the bang-up Halloween stunt Carter had planned. But heck, maybe they could get this Countess rescued and gone and STILL have time to get that neat stunt off the ground! 

No, Hogan hadn't really listened much when Carter was trying to describe what he had in mind for October 31st. The Colonel had been too busy, had just given a fast "probably not, Carter. Doubt we'll have time, especially now." But still, Carter thought it was a real killer of an idea, and figured maybe he could bring Hogan around to his way of thinking if the Countess was gone by then. In fact, it might be better not to even mention it to the colonel, but just go ahead with getting everything ready, just in case it did work out.

See, he'd found this old book in a pile of trash out back of that bookstore on his last assignment in town, and it talked about all kinds of neat stuff, scary stuff, things that made him shiver, even things that had given him a nightmare or two. Things that just screamed 'Halloween!', and, hey! if there was ever a time for screaming, he figured it was then. 

There had been a lot of the usual scary stuff in that book, but also some things he'd never heard about before, at least if he was translating it right. 

There had even been a few things that reminded him of when Reverend Morris back home had got drunk that time one Saturday night. Oh, that wasn't all that uncommon, and everybody knew he did it, but since it was for his arthritis and insomnia and gout and a whole bunch of other stuff, that made it 'medicinal', so no one said anything. Except that one time, well, he forgot to stop drinking til right before it was time for Sunday services.

The dignified old gentleman who usually bored everyone to death with his dry reading and monotone lectures let his sermon on temptation get a little out of hand. It had started out the usual, alright, but then, wow! Heads started jerking up when the preacher suddenly reared back his head and yelled "LUST! SIN! DEPRAVITY!" Yep, that got everyone's attention right away. That bible got slammed down on the pulpit like he was trying to kill a spider or something, then it got real interesting! 

He started going on about old ladies who sat on your chest in the dark and put their hands all over you; even kissed you, sucking all your air, trying to bite your tongue out, but how they turned into cats and ran away if you woke up and saw them so everyone thought you were crazy if you went and told anyone what had really happened.

Then he got to describing something called a succubus and even an incubus, and what THEY got up to, well, that had been real interesting too. Seems they kinda made those old cat-ladies look all quiet and shy and modest, ya know?

Everyone was listening real good, even people walking by stopping to poke their heads in the door and coming up to the open windows to listen; even Mr. Dawkins was listening, and he usually slept right through the sermon and only woke up when the AMEN's started ringing out loud and clear toward the end. 

At least everyone was listening til the Elders of the church got poked in the sides by their wives, them being all flustered and gabbling among themselves by then, and they'd grabbed Reverend Morris and took him back to the rectory. 

There was an emergency meeting called of the Church Council right afterwards, and a letter sent to the regional headquarters asking them to send someone to collect Reverend Morris and put him somewhere safe, and arrange for a temporary pastor to come take over til they could find someone who had a better idea of what was suitable for preaching in a family church.

Andrew remembered his mom had taken him straight home and washed his ears out with soap, and told him to just nevermind ANY to that, that poor Reverend Morris had been taken with a sick spell and was talking through the fever. That it would be purely unkind to even think of remembering any of what was said, much less repeat any of that! The way she was eyeing that bar of soap had made a believer out of Andrew.

Though Andrew remembered his DAD told him later that while some of that was just talk, some, maybe not so much. And, just in case, it was best not to have anything to do with anyone strange who showed up to keep him company in bed at night. And when Andrew had asked his grandfather, his grandfather had agreed, and added that that thing about old women and cats, he wasn't sure of that, one way or another, so better be on the lookout there too, which really wasn't what Andrew had wanted to hear. It took him a long time before he was really okay with their elderly tabby Myrtle sleeping on the bed with him again, that was for certain! 

Well, anyhow, after he'd gotten that really neat idea, he'd written down as much as he could remember from what the Reverend Morris was saying, and the most interesting parts of that book, and got Lewis over in Barracks 7 to help him make up a whole story about what would happen if that sort of stuff started happening around HERE. It covered a lot of territory, everything from witches and ghosts to vampires and werewolves, and cats that turned into old women (or maybe the opposite), and bunches of other really neat stuff. 

It turned into a real masterpiece, that story. It turned out Lewis was real good at that sort of thing. He had been a proofreader at one of the publishing houses in London, one that specialized in creepy stuff, like ghosts and vampires and mummies - things Lewis called 'gothic'. Lewis said they'd also put out a lot of other stuff, about architecture, mostly, and puddings. Only the way he said it was more like "we also put out a lot of stuff about architecture, and puddings too, of course. Well, that only makes sense," like there was an obvious connection between all that stuff. Carter was gonna ask him what the connection was but then the colonel had been calling for him so he never got around to it. But he really hoped he could sometime, because he was sure it would be real interesting.

Anyhow, the end result after Carter and Lewis got through with their collaboration was a really spooky story, and Carter figured they could do it as a reading in the Rec Hall, with all the lights turned out, or at least real low, with sound effects and everything, for the whole camp, and if he couldn't get permission to do that, he'd make lots of copies and get just get one guy in each of the barracks to read it, with another guy doing the sound effects. 

Then, after everyone went to sleep, he'd sneak around and make some of that stuff kinda come to life. Well, probably none of that incubus or succubus stuff; he didn't have a clue how to make that happen, and the guys might get a little upset about that kinda stuff anyway, but some of the rest, sure. Noises in the dark, maybe a hand tiptoeing up someone's leg or arm, a damp sponge cut out like a tongue licking someone's face, or a wet washcloth dripping down. He knew he'd have to be real careful not to get caught, but still, it sounded like a real blast!

He'd thought about asking Newkirk's opinion, but the Englishman was really being a spoilsport recently, always talking about how Andrew was going to get himself hurt with some of his silliness some day; yeah, Newkirk would probably just come up with all kinds of reasons why that Halloween plan wouldn't be such a good idea. 

Sometimes Newkirk was just that way, and for no good reason Carter could see. Why, last year he'd even argued against celebrating Halloween altogether, claiming they had more than enough scares on a daily basis, they didn't need any more.

Carter was sure, though, if he could just just get his friend to thinking about it right, even Newkirk had to see the difference between the pretend kind of scares and creepiness a good Halloween could provide and the REAL scares and creepiness they kept encountering. The first was therapeutic, at least if he had understood Wilson when he'd used the word about something else. The second, well, no, not that, that's for sure.


	2. England - Brandonshire, The Mansion

Garrison had just finished laying out the basics of their next mission. Now he sat back, sipping his almost-coffee, watching their faces as they thought through what he'd told him, took a closer look at that photograph he'd handed around.

"Ei, Lieutenant. W'at's the real story with this Countess?" Goniff asked with a wary look. For some reason, while the others seemed to accept the briefing without too many reservations, at least so far, it was obvious their pickpocket wasn't happy.

"I already told you," Garrison said, patiently. "She's stepped on a few German toes, said 'no' to the wrong guys, including Himmler himself, and now she needs to be out of Germany, fast."

Goniff grimaced. "Not w'at I meant. I get that part; 'ave to say, can't much seeing any woman wanting to cozy up to that 'immler bloke, like you said she was being asked to. Just, and not trying to be mean or cold-'earted or anything, but I don't get why that's our nevermind."

"Hell, who cares? Did you get a look at that picture? It may be kinda blurry, just being a photograph of a painting, and a damned small one in the first place, but sheesh! That's a hell of an armful of one gorgeous babe!!"

Goniff rolled his eyes, especially when Actor being so quick to nod his fervent agreement. Well, trust Actor to be in favor of rushing in to play gallant rescuer of some gorgeous female, especially one with a fancy title and all. And Casino, well, he wouldn't need the title to start making plans.

Chief leaned back, rolled the toothpick to the other side of his mouth, and snorted at the two men all but drooling over the idea. "Still don't answer Goniff's question. Don't think HQ set this up just for these two to get a chance at a little high-toned hanky-panky. So, what's the real reason, Warden?"

Garrison was always amused at the so-typical responses his guys could give to a situation. Well, usually typical; there had been a few surprises, but those were coming less and less after all this time. The more he understood them, the fewer surprises came along to kick him in his expectations. Now, having had his amusement for the afternoon, he proceeded to tell them the rest of it.

"It seems during the 'courting' process, one of the big shots - not Himmler, but someone fairly close to him - let slip some information our people think would be very helpful in catching Berlin off guard. The Countess got word out, let London know she'd be more than willing to share that information in exchange for safe conduct out of Germany and into a safe harbor. HQ thinks it's a fair exchange, so there we are.

"Oh," he inserted as casually as possible considering how his stomach clenched at the notion, "we'll be stopping in the vicinity of Stalag 13 on the way back. The Countess will be spending a little time there before we continue the trip home."

Goniff stiffened in his chair, frown growing, really not having a good feeling about the whole assignment. 

Well, perhaps part of that was being sent out at this particular time would mean missing that Clan celebratory dinner Meghada had been planning and gathering supplies for. Yes, he knew she'd postpone the whole shebang, since the team WERE the only guests and she was really doing it more for them than for herself, but he'd gotten a good look at her tentative menu, and he purely hated to put all that on hold!

And, with the timing and all, they'd probably have to scuttle those tentative plans for a Halloween storyfest and drink-a-thon. But again, the stash of booze would wait, and the stories would be just as good later on.

Mostly, though, it was the mention of just where they'd be stashing the Countess for those couple of days, in addition to that earlier swell of unease.

"So, if we 'ave to do this, grab the skirt and get 'er away, why are we dropping 'er off at the Joker's little establishment for a couple days' layover? Why not just grab 'er and run?" he protested. Not that he wouldn't have been pleased enough to see Newkirk again, and the rest of the guys in the crew, but not the big guy, Hogan. The further they stayed about from THAT guy, the better.

Garrison nodded. That WAS something he hadn't shared with them yet, and he'd been waiting for someone to ask. His smile was enough to make each of them a little uncomfortable; they'd seen that hungry crocodile impersonation before, and it usually meant the Warden had something a little freakier than usual in store for them. He didn't disappoint them this time either.

"Goniff, I'm glad you asked. Actually, we were ordered to escort the Countess there, give her at least 24-48 hours without interference, before escorting her to the pickup point. No, I don't know what she's to be doing there; it's one of those 'if we thought you needed to know, we'd tell you' things. 

"However, in this case, it is quite fortuitous. See, there's this little side venture that came up. It IS in the same general neighborhood - well, within a couple of hours anyway - and there's no sense calling a separate taxi - ah, sub - when one will do the trick. You know how HQ is about the expense account."

That got a reluctant snort of laughter from the four men. He turned to his second in command.

"Actor, how much do you know about fourteenth century Russian icons and the Russian cyrillic alphabet? It seems one of the German generals, General Hans Rausmann, currently recuperating at his country estate a couple of hours from Stalag 13, has been quite active in collecting samples of the former, along with other art objects. In fact, from what we can tell, it is a family obsession - his father, grandfather, further back were collectors too - not just icons, art works of various descriptions. The General is just doing it by confiscating versus purchasing the art."

Chief entered into the conversation again. "Maybe the General, he's on a tight budget too."

The guys laughed, incuding Garrison.

"Could be, Chief. Anyway, his latest addition is a Russian icon, very old, very valuable, one reputedly by someone named Andrei Rublev."

Actor almost dropped his pipe, barely able to choke out that name, "Rublev? My god!"

Garrison saw the others expressions change from a laconic 'so what?' to something much more animated. That was hardly surprising, considering their resident art expert's reaction, any more than the puzzled looks he was now getting. 

"You considering doing a little 'collecting', yourself, Lieutenant?" Casino asked bluntly with a sardonic smile. The last thing he was expecting was an affirmative answer; it had been more just something cocky to say in light of Garrison's firm opinion on such capers.

"Actually, Casino, in this case, yes," enjoying the skeptical, even worried looks the men were giving each other. Also understandable; that was more their field than his, a field in which they, to one extent or another, were quite the craftsmen. 

In fact, he went to considerable lengths to keep them from practicing that particular craft, although they had pulled a few such jobs at his direction - all in the war effort, of course. That they had pulled a few others - NOT at his orders - was something he suspected but had no solid proof of except in a couple of notable cases where he'd made them return their spoils.

"In this case, with this particular icon. Unfortunately for us, the Russian collector he 'liberated' it from was a cipher expert, and he'd used that particular icon, something that had been in his family for generations, as the master code for a joint operation. We have the key from his sister - a simple number-letter substitution, but which letters - that's the question. The key is no good unless we know what the lettering, the words are around the border, their precise order. You see, the icon has never been photographed, the only drawings were clear enough on the center figure, but sadly vague on the precise lettering around the edge. It's clear enough there ARE letters, but not clear what they are, and it was the lettering that was used for the code. 

"And since no one was quick enough to make a copy or photograph before it went missing, and since the owner and code-maker didn't survive the 'collection process', everyone is scrambling to make heads or tails out of a couple of very important transmissions, with more of those transmissions already in the pipeline. 

"We really need to get the icon back, or at least get a clear photo, probably both - or whatever coordination there currently is between us and the Russians goes up in smoke. That's iffy enough at the best of times; now, it could be disasterous.

"Of course, that means we have to be able to pick that particular piece of art out of the rest of the collector's rather large collection. He has been a very busy boy in the collecting game, it would seem, and then there's all of what his family collected prior. It won't be as easy as it might sound, Actor," he warned. "We have to be 100% positive we've got the right piece!"

Actor frowned, took another deep inhaling of his pipe, as he considered. Yes, he had knowledge of both, of course, icons and the language most probably used on a piece of that age - certainly should be able to find enough information on Rublev's icons in particular to be able to narrow it down. Hopefully he would be able to learn enough that there would only be one firm possibility in what was presented to them when they arrived. 

What was intriguing to HIM, along with the whole outlandish notion of using such a masterpiece as a secret code, was the question of what ELSE that German general might have 'collected' along the way. There were buyers for that sort of thing, buyers willing to pay a great deal for the right piece. The retirement fund might find itself with a very nice little addition before the job was over. He'd discuss the possibilities with the others as soon as they had sufficient privacy, explain how to sort out valuable from not-so-much, what made a piece particularly desirable. After all, one of them might get an opportunity he did not, and it would be a shame not to take full advantage due to lack of prior knowledge. And depending on the space over which the collection was kept, he might need their assistance in ferreting out the icon in question.

"Yes, Craig; I can handle whatever you need in that line, of course," he reassured their leader with a calm smile, exuding complete confidence. "I have a friend who has some expertise to fill in any small gaps in my own; he can direct me onward if he feels it preferable." 

If his eyes flickered briefly at each of this teammates, alerting them to something special in the wind, that was only to be expected.

"I must admit I am a little surprised that HQ would send us on a dual mission - at least one with such divergent parts. Especially with Major Johns being the Handler; he DOES seem to have some reservations about us and art objects, as well as us and women, so . . ." Actor offered in a questioning tone.

"Just got lucky, I guess," Garrison smiled, carefully shielding his disgruntlement at having his little con seen through so quickly. Well, at least, having suspicions arise.

And that was a very well-judged suspicion. Actually, the mission he had received and been briefed on by Major Johns was solely involving the Countess, and that came with a myriad of warnings, admonitions, cautions and much else that the guys could readily imagine from the prim-nosed officer.

That SECOND part, that had come about purely by accident. Major Richards had seen him at HQ, ascertained the team had just been assigned a mission, and had obviously been disappointed. It seems Richards had been about to snag them for quite a different mission.

A brief mention of their general destination had brought a sparkle back to the Major's silvery eyes. A few questions, a few words more led to Garrison and Richards headed off for some privacy. 

After requesting and hearing the details of that rather odd mission briefing, (after all, Richards had an even higher security clearance than Johns), Richards developed a persuasive smile, and offered a hopeful glimpse of what HE had in mind for Garrison and his men. 

As Richards explained, "and if the Countess must, for some reason Major Johns refuses to divulge, visit and spend some time in this local Travelers' Aid Society place, two days or slightly more, and if Major Johns fervently assures you she will be quite safe there, perhaps you and your men might leave her to it, and manage a little job for me. 

"From what you told me before, and yes, I am quite aware I was getting only the very thin edge of the story, none of your team would be all that eager to repeat your previous visit in any case. Of course, you would not have brought any of that up in your meeting with Johns, not after the main man there filed that oddly-worded complaint with me after your last visit. Seems rather ungrateful, to my mind, considering, but we both know not everyone seems to cultivate the proper sense of gratitude in this war. We are also both aware it took far too long for the furor to die down in certain quarters about your having been there in the first place, it not having been part of your assigned mission."

The two exchanged a knowing smile. It had been Clan O'Donnell who had been responsible for that frantic rescue mission, not HQ, but that was hardly something they wanted to become common knowledge. Clan O'Donnell and the Allies might be fighting on the same side, but their individual goals did not always align step for step. And although in the case of Stalag 13 and Colonel Hogan and his team the Allied command would probably have gone along, there had hardly been enough time to let them dither around trying to decide on a proper course of action. Of course, HQ got its feathers in a ruffle; they really did like to think they held all the reins in their own hands and tended to resent any reminder that that was not always the case.

Richards and Garrison agreed it was quite fortuitous timing, those two missions - getting the Countess out of Germany, and retrieving the key to that invaluable code; and neither had any qualms about Garrison and his team having the ability to handle both parts as well as or better than any other team in rotation. Of course, Richards had a few other qualms, but was starting to learn to stifle them in the cause of efficiency.

No, at that round table in the Common Room, Garrison was pretty sure now was not the time to go into explaining how he'd volunteered them for a second mission just because it was 'in the neighborhood', along with sounding right up their alley, so to speak. No, he . . .

His thoughts were interrupted by a raspy voice commanding his attention.

"Stalag 13. The Countess got family there? A birthday party she promised to bring the candles for? Something else equally vital to the war effort? Why there, Lieutenant? We giving guided tours of the 'ot spots of Europe now?"

Goniff's remarks were very carefully off-hand, a genial, gently-inquiring 'just curious is all, mate!' smile on his face, not that any of that fooled anybody. The pickpocket was being more persistent than usual, obviously not going to let it drop - not letting Garrison slide away from that quick reference, the even quicker redirecting of their attention, and there was no one in the room who didn't know why.

After all, Goniff and the 'Joker', as the Englishman had scornfully dubbed Colonel Robert Hogan (along with a few other memorable if rather less mentionable qualifiers) had had their differences during their prior visit. Specifically, Goniff had voiced his objection to Hogan's nasty comments regarding Meghada and her sisters, along with Hogan's getting a little too handsy with the redhead who had accompanied them on that mission. 

Of course, Hogan hadn't stopped there, either with the comments OR those over-friendly hands. The next bout of 'friendliness' had been directed at Garrison himself during a private officers-only confab in a side tunnel turned into a temporary office. That had, unexpectedly, resulted in Hogan sprawling across a makeshift desk after encountering an unexpectedly hard fist. Not one wielded by the startled Garrison, but by their pickpocket. Well, Goniff thought the bloke didn't listen too good, needed a reminder to "keep your ruddy 'ands off that w'at don't belong to you!"

Garrison looked at his pickpocket now, looked behind the smile and vague expression and recognized that far-too-thoughtful look in those hazy blue eyes. He hastened to respond. 

"WE won't be staying at Stalag 13. We drop off the Countess safely at the contact point, watch from the shadows while she's picked up by one of the guys there, and head back out. We finish the outside job, head back and collect the lady, and head for the exit. So there won't be any time for chit-chat or sharing a cup of tea, not for any of us, including me." {"Particularly not you, Goniff!"}

Garrison would see to that. The rest of the guys in Hogan's Command Crew, they were alright. Goniff had even been friends with one of them, Peter Newkirk, before the war. But Hogan? No, the farther away his guys stayed from Colonel Robert Hogan, the better. Hogan was the sort to hold grudges, and being senior prisoner of war in that camp and being the leader of the operation, he had more power than any one else there, probably including the Kommandant.

Actually, he was including himself in that 'no time for chit-chat' as well. Garrison had to admit he hadn't been any too thrilled on their last visit to find his arse being fondled by the ever-so-charming Hogan, with the colonel's obvious intention not to stop there. So what if Garrison had reacted quickly, been planning to do the discreet thing, smile politely and end the comradely chat and get back to the main tunnel where his guys and the others were congregating. Yeah, Hogan was between him and the door, but it wasn't like Garrison couldn't take care of himself, even with something this unexpected. He figured a few careful words would have done the trick, hopefully nothing more being needed.

So, yeah, maybe Goniff had over-reacted a little. Maybe the pickpocket taking command of the situation, actually directing Garrison back to the main room (even if only with one swift look and abrupt jerk of his head), would be frowned on by most officers. Looking back, Garrison knew he should have maybe objected - probably issued at least a brief lecture afterwards about being able to take care of himself, about the inadvisability of hitting a superior officer, even about spitting in the face of a lion in its own den. 

He hadn't, though, and never regretted the decision. That reaction from Goniff had stunned him. It had gone far past the protectiveness that was just an integral part of the Englishman toward any member of the team, had been something related but yet different, and Garrison was ruefully aware that a reprimand would have sounded hollow and tasted bitter to both of them. 

Yes, Garrison had been shocked by that flare of possessiveness in his pickpocket, how it had, in one brief instance, changed how he saw the two of them, their relationship to each other. If that new vision was a little startling, him never having seen that dominant streak in his pickpocket before, it was one he found compelling. Seeing Hogan slam down across that desk, seeing Goniff's blue eyes flash with silver lightning, feeling the temperature in the room to be at once ice-cold and heavy with heat, hearing that possessive and furious snarl - the combination was absolutely feral in its effect, and had immediately become one of Garrison's most prized memories. 

He knew it wasn't one of Hogan's, however, and all in all, they were all better staying away from Hogan as much as was possible, no matter how sincere Hogan's laughing explanation and semi-apology had seemed. If you could consider it an apology, him saying how Goniff, how Garrison had got it all wrong, how he'd just been delivering a brotherly pat of approval, though warning his fellow officer to be careful around 'some people', that not everyone would just be joking around. He added, much to Garrison's internal amusement, that Garrison ought to be on guard about that, maybe especially around that "red headed troublemaker AND that Cockney bastard with the nasty attitude. You really need to keep an eye on them! They've got the whole crew thinking in the wrong direction, getting all upset over something that never even happened like they're saying it did." 

Garrison found a grim amusement in that claim, though giving consideration to Hogan maybe going into politics after the war; he seemed to have the art of misdirection down cold. It was obvious Hogan figured Garrison was too dense or maybe too conscious of their comparative ranks to dispute that 'never happened' business, no matter it had been HIM on the receiving end of that feel-em-up session. {"Just joking, my - pardon the expression - arse!"}

In fact, that was where Goniff had gotten the nickname he'd given Hogan, 'The Joker', from when Garrison had told the guys about that sort-of apology, one focused not on attrition but on how it was unfortunate that everyone had jumped to the wrong conclusions, misunderstood. . Frankly, Goniff wasn't the only one who failed to be impressed by that non-apology.

Still, if Garrison thought it was necessary, they could manage a brief contact with Stalag 13, especially if they didn't need to actually interact with Hogan more than a brief hello-goodbye. It WOULD have to be limited to that. From what they'd heard, Hogan wasn't really the forgiving type. But then again, they knew neither was Goniff, not when he thought someone had overstepped certain boundaries. If Hogan held grudges, well, so did their pickpocket. And while Hogan was wily and inventive, Goniff was at least equally so, and he was likely to get the others involved and . . . No, the less contact there, the better.

The guys knew all that, accepted it might turn tricky, but shrugged it off. They figured they could handle it, whatever. And besides, they had other things to consider, like the possibilities of that side job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference: 'The Rescue' -


	3. Transylvania - Castle Moreau

A few weeks earlier, at a remote castle in Transylvania, a loud, piercing, if rather attractive feminine voice disturbed the uneasy peace. (Frankly, that was the only kind of peace the place had ever experienced in all its many years, and that only rarely, with none of the inhabitants really expecting anything different. Oh well, if you lived at Castle Moreau, you got used to it.)

"La naiba!!!!" (Polite translation - Damn it!). 

The Countess Liliann was beyond frustrated! All summer long she'd hung around the ancestral castle waiting for her brother to arrive with that group of tourists he was going to be carting around Europe for a 'tour'. Frankly she couldn't quite imagine Vladnar with a day job, the irresponsible brat. He'd never even been able to keep his room clean by himself, but whatever! 

Vlad had returned home and obviously the brat hadn't changed in the least. 

That was the reason the stunningly beautiful Countess Liliann was in a serious snit. Although certainly better than a 'fury', or a 'rage', a snit was still a dangerous state for one of her volatile nature, enough so that the servants were taking special care not to arouse her temper, knowing that rarely turned out well - well, never, actually, not with that dungeon and all those unpleasant 'accessories' available to her down there. One had only to look at Old Duncan to be reminded of that - or, what was left of Old Duncan. 

Oh, that hadn't been Liliann, it had been her older sister, but still, the lesson had been learned. Sybella had let Duncan live, not as a kindness, but as an example to the others about what came of those who annoyed her and the others who ran things around here. He didn't say much, poor Old Duncan, but then he didn't have to, not to make the point; he was confined to a big metal birdcage in the kitchen where no one could really overlook her object lesson on a daily basis.

Yes, after her favorite mirror hit the stone wall and shattered, even Liliann would have to admit it - she was in a royal snit, but she thought it was totally understandable! She had had such high expectations, thinking the month of October, (what with it holding that 'All Hallow's Eve' of bygone days, though seemingly it was now called something slightly different, 'Halloween'), would be an ideal opportunity for a seriously good time. Something to tide her over til that big end of November party they threw every year!

(To any one watching, which everyone within earshot was far too smart to be doing, it would have been obvious that snit was rapidly sliding into a determined pout.)

She was READY for a good time - a new century awaited in which to taste her fill of the joys life (someone ELSE'S life!) could bring, after her short period of recovery from her LAST such adventure. The 1900's had ended with a nice little nap, 20 years or so, followed by another like span of pampering herself, luxuriating in the pleasures her home provided. 

Well, she'd NEEDED the rest, she had to admit, felt it had done her a world of good. The second half of the PRIOR century had been utterly exhausting! She'd intended for it to be an encompassing European tour, but had gotten distracted in that little place called England, well, one city primarily, one called London. 

The Victorians, as they termed themselves, had been such a lovely experience, so prim on the surface, yet so eager for her attentions, so eager to indulge her in any way she might think of. Even their literature seemed to point to their inclinations in that direction! They had quite drained her, all the while she was draining them!

After her London experience, as pleasantly exhausted as she'd been in the aftermath, and after her nap, she'd decided to take a long 'stacation' at her castle, if she had THAT strange term right. 

{"I am going to HAVE to find a vocabulary guide with all these odd new expressions! Why can't they just decide on some terms and leave it at that, not keeping making up new ones?! Every time I take a little nap, I awaken to find I have to learn a whole new set!"} 

She'd enjoyed herself during her sojourn back home, certainly, indulging in long hot bubble baths while sipping a wineglass of refreshing red liquid, or overseeing the breeding of a new sort of vampire bat that could fly during the daylight. She'd initiated a few interesting sessions with the monks and nuns at the enclave a few miles away - enough to get them all recalled to their leader in Rome in disgrace, unimaginative old coot that he was! She wrote in her journal, improved on a few family recipes by adding new ingredients she'd come across in her travels. Overall, just a general revitalizing of her spirits. 

But after her period of rejuvenation, she had been rested and eager for a NEW set of experiences, had things planned out, hoping even to outdo the Victorian experience. This time she had been going for extremes of difference - Switzerland, with its snow-capped peaks and reputed efficiency, and then Zanzibar, with its very different scenery and climate and outlook. Maybe with a stop in at Haiti on the way back - she was a bit of an aficionado of the practice of voodoo and its raw energy and passion! She likened the whole trip to a playing-out of one of her favorite dinners - the one starting with a jellied consomme of fertile eggs, raw milk, and honey, proceeding to a complex vegetable and lamb curry, rich with spice and subtle heat, ending with a wine glass of crushed ice skillfully combined with raw lime juice and one or two of those wonderfully-hot red peppers from Trinidad, ground to a fine power. Yes, that was what she'd had in mind for her vacation, and truly lovely it sounded to her.

Only Vladnar had talked her out of it, made her miss the prime traveling season, all because of his empty promises.

"It'll be fun, Liliann!" she said mockingly to the air in a deep tone mimicking her younger brother's voice, repeating the coaxing words Vladnar had convinced her with. "A lovely assortment, I promise! They will be tired from the journey, ready for a break. Ready for something far more compelling than the general round of ruins and antiques and the usual cheap tourist trappings the other guided tours are offering. They'll be thrilled to enjoy the ambiance of a 'genuine Romanian castle with its own resident village of quaint villagers. All complete with regional cuisine, local alcoholic beverages, genuine folk music and delightful folk dancers in their colorful costumes, and so much more!!'. Sweet meat, sister, red blood, and even some lovelier sharing of their vital essences! Surely that is worth waiting for?" he'd argued, wanting her to postpone her travels, promising he'd bring the treats to HER for a change. "They call it 'ordering in', I believe," he'd laughed.

She should have KNOW better than depend on Vladnar! And she wouldn't have in THIS case if big brother Oran hadn't insisted, told her Vlad had matured, become far more reliable! To give him a chance!! 

"Brothers!! PE DRACU! (Polite translation - BULLSHIT!!). The hairbrush that matched the mirror followed its mate, handle cracking at the sharp impact.

She was almost ready to call the whole thing off! Imagine, holding off her hunger, her thirst, her desire for a whole year (well, so maybe not for a WHOLE year, there had been a few short day-trips here and there in the general vicinity, as was only appropriate for a stacation) and ending up so disappointed. Screw this 'saving it up for October, Halloween month!' her brother had proposed. She doubted her randy brother was doing much 'saving', not if she knew him! No, she was going to remember their mother's advice, go back to the old 'strike when the branding iron is hot' way of thinking! And who could blame her??!

Vlad had arrived with his troupe last night, and such an utter disappointment! Eight of his 'lovely' tourists, not the full dozen he had indicated, and not one of an age or disposition to provide ANY of what he promised! Stringy, thin-blooded, complaining, whining lot of them! Nothing pleased them. The village was "just like any such place back home, dirty and squalid, and the peasants no better than they ought to be, more than likely!". Their rooms were "chilly and damp, and have you people never heard of wallpaper??!" Dinner last night had received a hearty BLECHHHHHH!, which from the tone and the looks on their faces was NOT intended as a compliment to the chef!

"And as for vital essences, not a drop among them, in my estimation! Yes, yes, I know he said the war has seriously affected the tourism industry, but really, he could do no better than THIS?? Always excuses with him!

"I waited all summer, we're heading into autumn and I have NOTHING to tide me over! NOTHING!!! And I truly HATE having to get bundled up to go out for a little fun and a snack! Winter is for warm fires and mulled wine and my pipe of sweet hashish, and even sweeter memories, not traipsing around in the snow and sleet! Brothers!! Totally useless! I don't know why we have them in the first place!"

She fretfully flipped through the stack of magazines she had sent to her from all over the world. Well, one DID have to keep up with changing fashion trends, if nothing else! How embarrassing to be caught out in a dress with last century's hemline!

One of those magazines from far across the seas caught at her eye with the seemingly all-inclusive cover, 'Ghosts and Goblins Galore! How Does YOUR Halloween Measure Up? Make It The Diabolical Highlight Of Your Year! Read All The Latest Stories And Ideas And Tips For A Truly Spectacular Halloween!' 

Another had the intriguing question, 'When The Creatures Of Darkness Come Out To Play, Will You Be Ready? Let Us Give You A Head Start!'

The third was even more appealing with its challenging banner of 'Make This The Halloween Of Your Dreams - And Your Neighbors' Nightmares!'

Well, she had nothing else to do with her evening, so she poured herself another glass of red wine, well fortified with another red liquid substance, obtained from willing (well, maybe not SO willing, but they knew better than to argue) volunteers from the village below, and opened the first magazine.

"Spiced apple 'mummies' with cinnamon crust wrappings. Clear mint-flavored gelatin 'eyeballs', complete with a grape center! How novel, and while a little cumbersome to make, perhaps, not as messy as gathering the real thing!" Such cunning notions, and the others seemed equally as jolly. Halloween! Hmmmm! At least that idiot Vlad had been right about that - it just seemed tailor-made for her and her idea of fun!

By the time she'd finished the magazines and the decanter of wine, she had a thoughtful smile on her face. So her brother had failed her. Since when was she inclined to depend on that shiftless male anyway?? Just like their father, the old Fang-Master himself - their mother had always complained that HE was forever over-promising, but under-delivering!

Well, if the lovely times wouldn't come to her, served up on a silver platter, fine. She would just go on a little vacation, find a few goodies and treats (and maybe play a few tricks!) of her own. And she had absolutely no intention of bringing Vladnar with her! 

Of course, she didn't intend to invite her sister Sybella either. Liliann liked a good time - a little blood, maybe a nibble or two from some place that wouldn't show too much, certainly a goodly helping of personal essences - but Sybella, well, Sybella never knew the difference between a good time and a slaughter. One sip of warm sweet salty blood and she had to have it all; one bite, and there went the throat or the liver. And as for essences, well, leaving the host a shriveled empty husk surely eliminated the possibility for another visit! That just seemed wasteful! Talk about killing the golden goose!

No, Liliann would be doing this little vacation solo, just like she'd done with that Victorian one that had proved so utterly delightful. Why, that one had seen her through an entire war and beyond before she got antsy again!

She'd pack a few carefully chosen things, make a few discreet arrangements, and leave her brother to his whiny charges. He could make whatever explanation to Sybella he wanted to, if big sister showed up before Liliann got back. Liliann was sure their sister wouldn't be nearly as forgiving as Liliann was being of Vlad littering up the castle with that useless lot of tourists!

In the meantime, SHE was going to have some fun and make some memories, and gather enough sweet essences to tide her over through the cold months ahead. After all, she'd just about worn out those in the village below. They NEEDED a rest, time to replenish their OWN essences, otherwise they would be useless come springtime.

Carefully she made her plans. 

"Where to go, where to go . . . " she pondered.

Reluctantly she'd ruled out London, "been there, done that!". After serious deliberation, she deciding her first stop would be in Germany. Well, it was already filled with night horrors; it was likely a few more wouldn't even be noticed! 

And she knew just the person to give her a little guidance, maybe put the wheels in motion - a certain person now living in London, amusing herself by gently manoeuvering the 'counters on the playing board' (as Morticia laughing described the hapless individuals in the Allied military command she had so carefully cultivated). 

Morticia liked to call herself an 'influencer', especially in the travel and culture area. No, she hadn't been able to explain to Liliann quite what that WAS, or the purpose, or anything else, but it did sound impressive. Yes, Liliann was sure 'Tish', as her cousin was now calling herself, would find the perfect place, the perfect players for a little fun and games! Look how well Cousin Morticia had done with her OWN little games. Liliann could still remember that conversation over a bittersweet pot of nightshade tea during their last Girls' Night Out. {"Or is it Girls' Night In? These new terms, fun, yes, but sometimes sooo confusing!"}

"I DO make sure not to prove a detriment to their overall goals, of course, dear Liliann. One would hardly want to put one's finger on the scale on behalf of that uncouth individual in Berlin! He may be evil enough to almost be a relative, perhaps on Uncle Gravnar's branch of the family, but he simply has no finesse! One shudders to think how standards would sink were he to rule Europe! However, there are many who are of doubtful benefit to the war effort, and even of those who ARE useful - well, a brief visit, a modest nibble, a bit of shared pleasure is probably good for their morale! At least, ma belle cousine, I have had no complaints, though I HAVE been careful not to go to extremes!"

(In future years Liliann would shake her head in dismay at how far Morticia would stray from her earlier days, from her dedication to their noble family heritage. Who ever thought one of HER family would be overtaken by that vile disease, 'true love'?!! Why, it was the very bane of the familial existence, wasn't it??! Their 'kryptonite', Oran had called it in one of his glummer moods. Whatever the hell kryptonite was, and that she still didn't understand. And frankly, Oran's drunken explanation - something about some odd person called Superman who flew around in blue tights yelling KAPOW! and a nosy if not too bright female named Lois. The only thing Liliann got out of that explanation was a firm opinion that Oran drank too damn much!

Still, in spite of all reason, eventually there it was, Morticia happily, disgustingly mated and married to some smirking jackanapes named Gomez! She was even BREEDING with him! Liliann could only wonder what great-great-grandmother Agnatha would say!!! She made a note in her journal to ask, the next time the old bat flapped her way back to the castle; that DID happen every few hundred years, after all. That was the primary reason they left that window open in the north tower, no matter how drafty it made the bedchambers in that wing.)

Anyway, as luck woud have it, Morticia asked around and found what sounded like a perfect venue in Germany for some fun and games, a place called Stalag 13, one complete with several likely individuals, including someone Tish had never met but had said sounded almost like a kindred spirit, a Colonel Hogan. 

And there were to be other men involved, men led by a Lieutenant Garrison. Tish had giggled about the lieutenant AND his men, and her whispers had been so delightfully salacious and promising! "I've been tempted to visit THEM myself, and still might if they ever settle down in one place long enough for me to get them properly scheduled on my calendar. But I keep myself booked up at least two months in advance, and they are rarely still, always out and about. But so tempting! Oooooooooh, Liliann! Mouthwatering, I promise you! Ever so handsome, and talk about essences!!!! Positively brimming OVER with essences, ALL of them!!"

Liliann listened to the cast of players and she had to admit it sounded quite promising. (It wouldn't be too long before she would think Tish was perhaps drinking too damned much too! Really, talk about an erroneous evaluation! Or, in Hogan's case, a misinterpreting of what should have been obvious!)

While Morticia dropped a word or two in the right ears to make it all happen, including giving a particularly susceptible person a glimpse at that miniature that Lilianne had posed for a century or so before, Lilianne perused her closet deciding which of her long flowing dresses would be most appropriate. Or maybe, this time, she'd try trousers! She had purchased a trio of trouser outfits but had never worn them in pubic. She wasn't sure how convenient they would be, with their limitations on ready access, but it might be worth a try. But, no, tradition called for long flowing dresses on such an excursion as she had planned, and so it would be. Not black, no - that was so, soooo cliche. Perhaps the turquoise? Or maybe scarlet. Ah, yes, scarlet might be just the thing. Not satin, no, but perhaps her new scarlet brocade. It would hide any spillage quite nicely.

And so, on a lovely dark night, the Countess headed off to meet up with the unsuspecting team who was to escort her to that small town near a place called Stalag 13. "Let the good times roll!" She wasn't sure that was exactly right, it sounded a bit strange, but so many things did anymore. She was probably going to have to update her library, maybe even replace that 1648 copy of 'Comynn Wyrds and Expreshons of the Modern Wyrld'.

Now, she was intending to pace herself. According to her information, this Lieutenant Garrison and his men would take her to where she was to meet this Colonel Hogan. They would allow her the time she'd specified, then they would continue the journey to London. In a submarine! She'd always wanted to ride in a submarine!

So, she would spend that first bit of time just getting the feel for being out and around again, getting back in the practice of inhaling and exhaling, which she found on previous excursions onlookers seemed to expect. Then, she could have some fun at this Stalag 13 place. And after that, she could have some MORE fun with this Lieutenant Garrison and his men, perhaps arrange a little private party. There was a lovely old deserted castle along their route; it should be perfect!

Ah, such a delightful time was in store; Sybella would be quite envious when Liliann recounted all of her adventures!

When she met the team assigned to escort her, she knew she was right. If anything, Morticia had underestimated the appeal of these five men. Mouthwatering didn't even begin to adequately describe this Lieutenant Garrison and the four who accompanied him! 

They were SO tempting, she almost changed her mind about reserving them for later, but then firmly reminded herself that anticipation only sweetened a dish. 

Why, she'd even refrained from peeking into their minds to see what sort of woman would best tempt them! (She, unlike her sister Sybella, preferred it if those she visited enjoyed her visits, and that often involved taking on the semblance of that person's 'ideal' sexual partner.) No, she'd leave that til later, when she could focus all of her attention on them, and besides, there were a rare few among the humans who could feel that slight intrusion, become wary. No telling if one of these men might be able to do so, and it made no sense alerting them, perhaps frightening them away. That could wait, that testing of their minds. All in good time, as the saying went.

They escorted her to a small eating and drinking establishment in the town of Hammelberg. 

"Take the table at the far right. We'll keep watch, make sure you make contact before we take off. You do whatever you have to do; we'll be back to get you. Stay safe, Countess; don't take any foolish chances," Garrison warned her.

She refrained from laughing at his concern. She'd taken in all his careful warnings, about this being a men-only prisoner of war camp, about the dangers inherent. His hints that she shouldn't totally trust ANYone inside, but someone by the name of Newkirk was probably the safest to rely on if things went wrong. "Though the rest of the men in the main barracks seem okay too." No, Garrison hadn't specifically warned her about the leader, this Colonel Hogan, but he and the others had talked around the subject so thoroughly that she was well aware they might trust his men somewhat, but not him - not on a personal level anyway. 

{"It was rather sweet, actually, them trying so hard to put me on my guard. Unnecessary, of course, but sweet."}

When the dark haired man in the white trench coat approached her table, smiled down with that wolfish smile, brimming with charm and devious intent, she knew she had just met Colonel Hogan.


	4. Germany - Stalag 13

And, yes, the Countess lived up to her description, at least as far as it went. Funny thing about that description though - nowhere did it mention her enthusiasm, her hunger, her thirst! 

And they were right, too, the men of Barracks 2, at least in the beginning. She was one alluring creature!

They'd each been treated to a sensuous smile, a whiff of a perfume that made their heads reel, but then Hogan had whisked the woman off to his quarters, firmly closing the door behind them. 

"And remember, no interruptions for anything less than an earthquake. Or Major Hochstetter. Whichever," came that stern reminder right before the two disappeared from view.

"Well, that's that," Newkirk shrugged with resignation. "We've 'ad our one glimpse. That's the last we'll see of 'er, or 'im either, til she's ready to leave. Cept you, LeBeau. Surprised 'e didn't tell you to wear a blindfold w'en you take their meals in."

So he wasn't nearly as much in the petticoat line as he made out to be, not anymore. Other than the frustration of having no choice in the matter, he figured he'd pretty much racked up enough mileage in his earlier years to match any other ten active men's record, so he wasn't technically being shortchanged in the long run. Of course, he wasn't opposed to a good toss with one of the fair sex when the opportunity arose, either. Wasn't like his heart had to be involved, just for a bit of exercise. 

Still, he'd have to be stone cold marble not to have THAT steamy creature give him a stray idea or two. For a moment there, he'd thought she'd looked directly at him, like there was something being said between the two of them. He wasn't sure he was all that interested in knowing just what, though. Gave him a bit of what Maudie used to call a cauld grue. Caeide had another term for it. {"Caeide would probably 'ave another likely term or three for the Countess too,"} he thought with a smirk. 

The stark comparison between the two women stood out in his mind - both obviously dangerous, both physically attractive, but beyond that, very, very different. If Caeide was the 'never fail you, whatever you need, to the death if need be' sort, this Countess was more the 'out for whatever I can get, if it takes your last drop of blood to achieve that' type. No, he didn't know how he knew that from just a smile and a glance, but he did. Probably all that past experience.

"She seems like a nice girl," Carter declared, though there was a hint of doubt in those innocent eyes. Even to his own ears, that sounded a little lame. He was still wondering about that little something, some quavering in the air, like words unspoken, but settling into his skin like bitter dust from a summer windstorm coming his way. 

Somehow, he wasn't sure 'nice' or 'girl' really applied so well to someone like the Countess. His mind drifted uneasily to the Reverend's descriptions of a succubus, as well as to that little book he'd found, the one with vampires and all that other stuff, finding way too many similarities to let him even think about sleeping soundly til after she was gone. 

{"She did have a real pretty smile. But that was really kind of creepy, when she turned, the way the lamplight made her teeth look so sharp. Maybe a good dentist could fix that."}

"She is not nearly as lovely as my Marya," LeBeau proclaimed loyally, though giving a slightly wistful glance toward that closed door. After all, Marya wasn't there, and the Countess was, though with the Colonel ALSO being there that was really irrelevant. 

No matter, seeing the Countess, somehow he'd seen Marya's image next to their visitor, and marveled at the difference - not in sight, perhaps, but in the aroma each brought to his nose. Perfume, not herbs, but of much the same importance to a Parisian. Ah, but the difference in those perfumes! The scent of perfume coming from Marya was rich and warm and sultry, as befitted a woman of her beauty and allure, but beneath all of that, it smelled clean and clear! The Countess wore perfume, yes, one he remembered as being very expensive even before the war, but beneath the seductive sweetness there was a thread of bitterness, like asafetida, the gum from the giant fennel. It was not a comparison flattering to the newcomer, and he felt his wistful longing disappear into nothingness. 

No, he would be quite content with his thoughts of his lovely Marya, would hold her close in his dreams this night - not yielding to the temptation the Countess presented to sending his thoughts her way.

He knew how the men thought of his Marya, and although he defended her fiercely, it was more because he was disappointed in them, that they didn't understand he loved her as she was, ALL that she was. He was not some foolish school boy, pinning his heart away for a pure and innocent village maiden. His Marya was no maiden, no child, but a woman, strong, brave, clever, and resourceful. That she was passionate, he had no doubt, just as he was certain those fools she toyed with for her own purposes had never felt her true passion. One day HE would know that passion; she had promised him that, if only with her eyes, her soft touch to his cheek. Still, he knew. Yes, it would be Marya he would hold in his dreams tonight, not the Countess

Olsen chuckled at LeBeau's claim. "I guess it depends on whether you prefer redheads or brunettes, I guess." 

He had experience with the whole gamut - blondes, redheads, brunettes and everything in between, and really had no preferences, at least not with women. And the one he DID prefer, that one he would have wanted no matter what color of hair Karl showed beneath that military cap. Still, the Countess was a lovely woman, and Olsen admitted he probably wouldn't have tossed her out of bed for eating crackers, as the saying went.

LeBeau bristled, "Marya's hair is a lovely color, the most beautiful auburn; it is not RED!" He took a quick look over at Newkirk, saw that warning uplifted brow and quickly remembered Caeide had red hair, at least far closer to red than auburn, and immediately added, "not that red hair cannot be quite lovely as well. It is just that Marya's is not that color."

Newkirk drew in a deep drag of his cigarette, accepting that quick save. "Yeah, yeah, Louie! You trying to tell us you wouldn't enjoy a little private time with THAT one, just for thinking of 'your Marya'. And as I keep telling you, that bit of deceptive frailty don't belong to you, not anymore than she belongs to anyone else she thinks might come in 'andy some day!"

LeBeau wrinkled his nose at his friend in exasperation of that bit of 'truth' that differed so much from how HE saw things. If they had been in private, he might have retorted with some truths of his own, things the Englishman was being so, so stubborn at admitting, about any number of things, but they weren't, so he refrained. That was what a real friend did - refrain in public (usually) and blast away with some hard truths in private.

Kinch just laughed at the whole lot of them. "Yeah, dream away, guys. The Colonel isn't going to let any of us any nearer to her than he already has. And I expect he'll keep her busy til it's time to send her out with the group being sent to pick her up."

He knew HE wouldn't be getting any closer to the woman than he already had. Oh, Hogan was more accepting of him than a lot of people were, not discounting him because of the color of his skin, respecting his skills, what he could bring to the team.

Still, the only time the officer had smiled and nodded approvingly at any hint of familiarity between Kinch and any woman had been when they'd encountered the Princess Yawanda, and if her skin hadn't been quite as dark as Kinch's, it had been close. 

Kinch knew those warnings to keep his eyes off Klink's secretary hadn't just come from worry about how Klink or the guards might take that. No matter Hogan's words about 'no sense setting them off, thinking they have to avenge an insult or anything," Kinch knew Hogan, along with the majority of the other prisoners, would be just as offended at any sign of familiarity between him and a white woman.

He glanced at the closed door, sparing a thought of concern for the woman in there with Hogan. Still, somehow, he had a feeling the Countess could take care of herself, even with a man like Robert Hogan. There had just been something about her. She reminded him of something, someone, though he couldn't imagine who that would be. {"Someone from that visit I made to New Orleans, maybe. Maybe a singer at one of the clubs, or maybe. . ."}. 

Her perfume had reminded him of that place too, but not a scent from the clubs, but one from the bayou where he'd visited an old friend. 

{"Thick, hot, the humidity making the air feel almost like jelly going down your throat. And that faint musky smell everywhere. Jacques laughed, told me to beware that smell. Said it was the smell of reptiles - water snakes and alligators. I thought he was just having me on, scaring the city boy - til that pale yellow body came slithering down out of an overhanging tree, and then that huge scaled monstrosity slid down the bank toward the boat roaring at us for invading its territory."}

Then it came to him, that secret club he'd been taken to, the one located in a dark alleyway, with the voodoo drums and that dancer with the big snake and the seductive way of moving. That experience had made him head to the small all-black hotel afterwards, wanting nothing more than a hot shower, a firm scrubbing with strong soap, a stiff drink, and maybe a long session with an understanding minister. {"That's who she reminds me of, though I'm not sure whether I'm thinking of the dancer or the snake!"}

He looked back at the closed door, suddenly wondering if he should be worrying about Hogan rather than the Countess.


	5. Germany - Country Estate of General Hans Rausmann

Actor had spotted the icon they were after almost immediately. He had made careful notes that more than adequately showed every word, every marking, any and every thing that might prove to be essential to decoding those messages. Of course, that didn't stop him from wrapping the icon carefully in one of the several handkerchiefs he and each of the other team members had brought with them just for such a purpose. Probably Garrison would insist on seeing the icon, making sure it was turned over to HQ; however, miracles occasionally did happen, and it was best to be well prepared for the possibity. In that case, he could turn over the notes, and the icon would provide a nice, indeed lavish, boost to the retirement fund.

He then proceeded to 'window shop' the other exhibits, carefully weeding out anything not viable for also adding to the retirement fund accounts. He had collected three quite nice additions, had every confidence the others were doing a little shopping as well, when he became distracted by a piece at the far side. {"Ah, now what have we here?"}

"Hey, Actor. Take a look at this." 

The low whisper came from Chief from the other side of the small gallery, distracting Actor from his admiring examination of an icon so old the features could hardly be made out. {"Unfortunately, it is far too fragile to take with us; it would not survive the trip without very special handling, which we are unable to provide."}

He put the icon back in its previous position, turned and looked at where the Indian was pointing, an item in the hallway leading to the adjoining gallery. Frowning, he stepped closer, then sighed in barely-concealed irritation and disappointment.

"Chief, that is a full portrait, of a fashionable lady drinking what appears to be a glass of wine, and if I am not mistaken, that is an opium water pipe next to her! It is certainly not a miniature, and it is hardly an icon of the Virgin Mary. I thought I was quite clear in my explanation . . ."

That got him a look that didn't even TRY to conceal its irritation.

"Yeah, I listened to your lecture along with everyone else, Actor. I KNOW it's not an icon. Not what I'm talking about. LOOK at it, her face. Look familiar?"

Actor stepped closer, blinked in recognition. "How . . . odd. Yes, I see your point. Perhaps an ancestress? There is, quite often, a close resemblance down through the generations of the older royal lines. You can see it in the galleries of many titled families. I recall . . ."

The snort of disgust distracted him from the lecture he'd been ready to deliver.

"Yeah. You've told us that before too, more than once. Still, it don't seem a little creepy, us just meeting the Countess, and now this?"

Actor had to admit, it rather did. It didn't help that the faded placard - really a trio of placards, placed side by side, necessitated by the sheer length of that description, gave more information his teammates would hardly be comforted by. He read it aloud, translating as he went along.

"It says the painting is called, 'Beloved Temptress, Devourer of My Despairing Soul'. My, my, how charming! And the description even more so, and far longer even than that overly-long title! Listen.  
*Moreau Draghe, titular leader of Castle Moreau and surrounds, located in the province of Transylvania, within the Kingdom of Hungary, in 1183 AD commissioned four paintings from the famed portraitist Ashkeln Drubinska, one of each of his four children. Although all four portraits were reputedly completed, this is the only one known to have survived, the one of the younger sister, Liliann. While her reputation was unsavory, not the least of which included a habit of bathing in a frothing mixture of mare's milk, wine, and blood, she was still considered the most benign and possibly the most intelligent of the four. 

Moreau Draghe allowed Drubinska to sketch the four to his heart's content, encompassing a period of a full year, before gathering the family and departing on a journey to some unknown local. It was understood that Drubinksa was to complete the portraits in their absence, and so he was left alone with only the servants as his company. 

It is said that Drubinska was so distraught by what he had learned about the family while he was painting the portraits that, although he completed all four, he destroyed the other three - those of Sybella, the older sister, Vladnar, and Orandel, respectively the younger and older brothers, but was unable to force himself to destroy this one, having become enamoured of the beautiful Liliann in spite of her uncomfortable habits. 

He reputedly smuggled the painting out of the country when he departed in the dead of night in an effort to escape the family who had commissioned the paintings, and who were likely to be considerably annoyed to discover his actions upon their return from their travels. Drubinska was found dead in his library at his home in Constantinople, not two months later, slumped in a chair in front of this painting, wine glass in hand, his clothing in a state of severe disarray, a look of intense rapture upon his face. 

The painting passed through several hands before it became part of the private exhibit of an unknown collector in 1737. It was rescued and brought into safety in The Year Of Our Lord 1921 by the hand of the current owner."

The conman remembered with more than a little discomfort the Countess mentioning her family, specifically her siblings, Oran, Vladnar and Sybella. No, that was not a comfortable thought, in the least.

Chief looked at Actor when the con man had finished reading that description. "You're shittin' me, right?"

So, yes, that sounded more like Casino than Chief, but that left plenty of room for the safecracker to expand on the theme when Actor and Chief brought the others over to view the painting. No, Casino didn't believe in any of that shit, didn't want to think about any of that shit, wasn't GOING to think about any of that shit, thank you kindly, and he'd just as soon the others quit yaking about it too, and just let them get the hell out of that place!

Of course, that didn't stop the others, especially when they poured out their combined misgivings to an incredulous Craig Garrison, urging him to just head for home with the icon and forget the Countess. 

"Let Hogan deal with her, Warden; figure if anyone could it'd be him," Chief suggested, with no one offering any objections.

That is til Goniff wrinkled his nose and admitted, "the two of them, think it's a match made in 'eaven, to my mind. But the others there, Newkirk and Carter and the rest, they don't deserve 'aving to deal with someone like 'er. Question is, 'ow do WE deal with someone like 'er?"

There had been a time when Garrison would have rolled his eyes at where this discussion was leading; that was a goodly number of experiences ago. Now, he was more concerned with finding an answer to Goniff's question. After all, it had been a damned good one!

In the end, all they could agree on was that they would, individually and as a group, exert extreme vigilance. Of course, no one offered any real objections when Actor raided that collection of holy objects, draping each of them with at least two or three of varying sorts, anything that wouldn't clank or be immediately noticeable.

Chief looked at the ornate cross completing his trio of adornments. "This really supposed to work?"

"Some say so, though others say it is more a matter of belief. Of course, others disclaim any efficacy to such objects. I imagine it is a case of learning by individual experience, and a bad outcome would most likely leave no one to dispute its efficacy. Still, it surely can do no harm," Actor admitted, and they didn't disagree. 

"If nothing else, probably worth a mite for the retirement fund," Goniff offered with a shrug, settling his own variety closer under his shirt, noting the more-than-adequate gems worked into the fretwork on one of the pieces he was now wearing.

That got him a quick clap upside the head, "hush, you numbskull! Don't want the Warden to hear you talking like that!" Casino hissed. 

However, Garrison was already halfway out the door, his mind already focused on the trip ahead - the trip, the Countess, Stalag 13, and probably a lot else. 

Of course, he didn't forbid that quick stop in the kitchens, to gather as much salt as they could stuff in their pockets. Both Chief and Goniff swore that just might be as much use, if not more. "Was against that Owisa, you know," Goniff explained, and that, of course, led to more of "all that shit I do NOT want to talk about, damn it!" from Casino.


	6. Germany - Stalag 13

Hogan, as much as his men, would have gaped at the notion of him ever failing short of satisfying the woman in his bed, though this time, at least, it would have been the truth. Oh, HE'D been satisfied enough, or at least his befuddled mind convinced him he had been. But while he lay in a sated stupor, lax smile on his face, blank eyes staring at the bottom of the bunk overhead, Liliann - pronounced, as she had told him at their meeting, Lee-Lee-AHNNN, after he insisted on calling her 'LIL-e-un', which she found distastefully common - took time out to hiss at him in exasperation. Yes, she'd intended to get a good sampling of what ELSE was available here, but only after she'd had a good stiff drink and a little fun in private first! 

But this Colonel Hogan? Bah! Such a disappointment!

She was still tasting his bitterness in her mouth! Well, there were rules, traditions, and one of the oldest prohibited her from feasting on one of her own kind. No, he wasn't, not really, but he was something closely-enough akin to cause him to be other than pleasing to her taste. 

Of course, she'd already been headlong into the first sensual experience she'd had in a very long time when the taste of his blood, the feel of the very first damp traces of his vital essences against her body brought her out of her frenzy. She'd backed away quickly, gagging, rushing to rinse her mouth from the pitcher on the desk. It was almost as bad as a much earlier outing with her older brother back in 1500 or so when their shared victims had moved suddenly and Liliann had gotten an inadvertent taste of Vladnar! Yuckkkk! Unfortunately, there was little to be done about Hogan's early smear of his essences, other than using his handkerchief and basin to clean herself as best as she could.

{"Enough of THAT! There HAS to be someone more appetizing, more available somewhere amongst all of these men!"}. 

True, she had limitations, had to stay within these walls or the tunnels below. She had been escorted to this specific place and could not leave until she was escorted back out again. Whoever came up with THAT restriction she didn't know, but she had more than once cursed that unknown busybody resolutely. "Not only a curse, but within that curse, rules upon rules, and making up far too long a list as far as I am concerned!"

Ah, well. Liliann gently opened the door to see what else could satisfy her. The likelihood of finding other kin here was minimal, if not less, so that shouldn't be an issue. Neither the sign of the cross, nor the symbol of the star would protect them, or any other such object, if any were so equipped. Yes, she should do well enough in that outer room. There was only one other thing that could thwart her, and that was almost as unlikely as finding blood-kin. 

Well, it never had been overly common, that shield of 'true love', no matter how the humans liked to prattle on about it, write about it, sing about it, and swear it on their knees if it served their purpose. She and the others of her family had laughed about that often enough, making a game of tossing back and forth the things either honestly mistaken for that quality or more pragmatically (or even dishonestly, as was usually the case) claimed as being that elusive quality. 

She remembered many such occasions, chuckling as she ticked them off in her mind. {"Lust, certainly. Desire for security. Desire for admiration. Need to possess another. Desire for advancement. Jealousy. Competing with another for a prize. Oh, so many many things I have seen claimed to be true love, and just look at how few of them passed the true test!"}

For there was a true test, one not subject to any refutal, her family ruefully acknowledged. For, other than the scent or taste of blood-kin (and that only because of the sheer nastiness of the experience), only one thing could deter THEM in their hunger, their thirst. For THEM, the presence of true love - mutual or not, acknowledged or not, understood or not, ACCEPTED or not - was the absolute repellent, more so even than wolfsbane supposedly was to one of the shapeshifters. 

Still, remembering just how few cases of true love she had come across in her many years, how few even were the stories told by her people around the fireside, those being more apocryphal than from personal experience, it was unlikely she would run into that obstacle here.

Straightening her scarlet gown, she quickly left, sparing not a glance for the senior prisoner of war laying spraddled on his bunk. He'd do well enough, she knew, though not caring overly much one way or the other. He would have pleasant enough dreams to make up for the slight punctures on his throat. She'd been with him long enough that HE was happy, laying there with a stupid smile on his handsome face, baring himself to the ceiling. "So uncouth!" She shuddered once again, then dismissed him from her mind, slipped out the door into the main part of the bare inhospital building. 

Six bunks, five of them occupied. Lucky her, a buffet!!! She chuckled low to herself, sending out the stupifying smoke with one easy breath to ensure they all now occupied that agreeable state, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness - a state where they were totally receptive to whatever she might desire of them. 

Now she could concentrate on the good stuff!! Where to start, she wondered, letting her senses wander, touch each still figure. 

A note of surprise, then a frown settled on her lovely face. {"Surely not! Not here!"} she muttered silently to herself as she reached out to touch the man sleeping in that top bunk. Olsen was his name, she knew that - boyishly handsome, slender in build. But yes, as she reached into his mind to determine the sort of woman he longed for, she felt the repulsing fire of that thing she could not fight, could never defeat. And the image that stood between her and this Olsen, not a woman at all, but a thin dark-haired man, not handsome, more pleasantly-homely than anything else. She drew back her hand and her mind before she could get more slightly singed from the heat.

"True love? What are the odds?? La naiba!" she scowled with annoyance, before passing to the opposite side of the room toward the small Frenchman. The sleeping man stirred in his sleep, murmuring something, perhaps a name, and shimmers appeared in the air above him, then surrounding him. At first Liliann thought it was an odd reflection of the heat from Olsen, that heat, before she reached out to touch this LeBeau. Before the fur-clad woman came fully into view, standing between Liliann and that sleeping figure. From the knowing look on the woman's face, the steely challenge resting there, she understood all too well Liliann's intentions and was of no mind to step aside to let the Countess feed. 

Frustrated, Liliann turned her back on that image. {"Another afflicted with true love??! This makes no sense!"}

The third bunk, a lower one on the opposite side of the entry door, occupied by the innocent-faced Carter, equally refuted her claim, this time a fiercely scowling man - actually, the man sleeping in the bunk above - forcing her back. She spoke English quite well, but many of the words he mouthed at her were unknown to her, but it was obvious he was not complimenting her on her dress or hair! One word she did understand, then another in the long stream, and she gasped in indignation. Really! Peasant! How DARE he??! The impertinence, to call her such a thing!

Liliann thought to push back, thought to try and override that heat pulsing not only from the man in the top bunk but also the one sleeping below, but any thought of success in that direction was thwarted by a growling, snarling image that pushed forward, actually making Liliann take two steps backward out of respect for those sharp teeth.

{"A she-wolf??! Here? And why??? What business is this of hers??!"}. But here she was, and it was clear that ridiculous 'true love' had infected the creature right along with the two men. Oh, maybe the she-wolf's bonds were only to the one man, the one who'd been so rude, but still, it was obvious Liliann was not going to sample either of THEM! She had an uneasy feeling that those teeth could become more than an image, could do very real damage, if she pressed the issue.

She was starving, ravenous now with hunger and need, and she was down to only one man, the one in the next set of bunks over. 

She was much more hesitant now, her skin actually feeling tender from the heat that had been thrust at her by the others, but when she tentatively reached out her hand, she sighed with relief. No sign of that absurd disorder, true love. And, she had to admit, if she was to be left with no choice, at least this one, this Kinch, was not one to turn up her nose at. Strong, well-built. Dark, darker even than that Spaniard she'd tasted when last she was in Seville, though perhaps not as dark as that lovely bit of manhood in Madagascar when she was celebrating her 600th birthday. Yes, he would be worthy of her attentions!

Kinch sighed, turned fitfully, his eyes opening lazily to smile at the vision now sharing his bunk. {"Damn, this kind of dream could get me lynched! But in the meantime . . . "}

Quite a bit of time passed before Liliann stretched and yawned with the release of tension. Yes, that had been lovely. HE had been lovely, and she fully intended to take at least one more helping. 

But she really wouldn't mind a bit of something else, a palate-cleanser, like those tiny courses in between larger ones at a multi-course dinner. She looked regretfully around the room, admitting reluctantly to herself that all within sight were still out of reach.

"Still, perhaps there are others," she whispered thoughtfully with a sly smile, sending out a thin trail of searching into the night. 

"Ahh, yes. Two others within reach! Come, sweet lovelies, come. One of you can be my entrement, or perhaps my next course. And there is still dessert to be considered!"

The door to the barracks opened slowly, quietly, and Liliann moved away from the sleeping Kinch to welcome her new pleasures.

"LA NAIBA!!!!! What is WITH this accursed place?!!!"

Liliann was seething! Two men had answered her summons, one old and grey, and with the girth of any three, maybe four of those already in the building. The other was of gangly build, but at least young enough to provide her with some of what she sought. EXCEPT - she recognized him from the glimpse she'd gotten into the mind and heart of that first man, Olsen. And, just as deeply embedded in THIS one's mind and heart, this Langenscheidt, was OLSEN'S image. The shimmering heat surrounding Langenscheidt warned her to keep her distance, and though she scowled in anger, she knew better than to try anything else.

As for the old fat one? A woman filled his heart, his mind - a strong-featured woman, no longer young, probably handsome rather than beautiful even as a girl - Gretchen. There was no give in that stern look the woman was giving her, standing there in front of the old soldier with her arms akimbo, their matching wedding rings telling that tale full well. Even if Liliann had been desperate enough, hungry to fight for this one, that steadfast true love nonsense stood between.

"Ah, well, Kinch. I hope you have rested long enough; it seems you are the only possible salvation of this bedamned vacation. At least so far. When the lovely Lieutenant Garrison and his equally-lovely men return, once we leave and journey to Burg Saaleck, then I will feast to my heart's content! None of that true love nonsense there, I should surely think! Ah, such pleasure to look forward to.

"But, in the meantime, my beautiful dark one, let us see what interesting things we might consider, eh?"

A message came from the Underground the following day, and Liliann made herself ready to leave. Only one night instead of the two anticipated, but she was fine with that. There really wasn't anything here to tempt her to prolong her stay, anyway. Kinch was already haggard and drawn, gathering worried inquiries as to the state of his health.

Hogan hadn't been all that thrilled to see Actor, to realize it was Craig Garrison and his men making up the exit team, and was more than a little snarly with everyone in sight. It didn't help that, for all the attention the Countess had given him as she was leaving, last night might never even have happened! {"Women! Ungrateful bitches, all of them!"}

Frankly, Liliann not only didn't care about Hogan's ill-humor, she'd been working hard to put the memory, the taste of Hogan, even his existence, out of her admittedly-fickle mind. She might regret leaving Kinch behind, but really, she knew he wouldn't be much good for another week, maybe two. She HAD been rather greedy, since she had no one ELSE to help assuage her hunger. Poor sweet might be rather lacking in energy all round for awhile, until he replenished what she'd taken from him.

Hogan's men, they were relieved that she was going, though they tried to hide it. The dreams they'd had that one night she'd been with them - they each shuddered to remember them. They were only glad the dreams had faded as quickly as they had appeared - SHE had disappeared from their dreams as quickly as she had arrived. Well, except possibly for Kinch, and he wasn't saying much. In fact, it was almost as if the sergeant was coming with a bad case of the flu, as drained and exhausted as he appeared, to the point of Wilson suggesting a few days in the infirmary

As glad as the Command Team was to see her leave, it was nothing to how SHE felt! She was MORE than pleased to be leaving this place. So disappointing in many respects! Why, if it hadn't been for the delicious dark man with the moustache, it would have been a total waste of time and she would have come away totally unsatisfied! Now, having been escorted to the end of the tunnel, having been met by the Italian known as Actor, she firmly put her experience at Stalag 13 behind her. 

{"Never look back, Liliann, only forward. And oh what pleasures are awaiting you! Such a lovely feasting and tasting of sweet blood, and flesh, and even more, the relishing of hot, rich essences! Another chance for a little fun, and that lovely deserted castle is not so far away. I'm sure I can persuade the lieutenant to do a stop-over. He seemed quite an easy-going sort."}. 

Berg Saalak she thought it was called, that castle, and with a history that was more than a little intriguing. Well, that's what you did on vacation, a road trip, wasn't it? See the local sights, sample a few delicacies, and such? Yes, it was time to be on her way.

Carter watched as they cleared the tunnel entrance, latched it firmly behind them, just as firmly dismissing the Countess from his mind.

On to more pleasant things, he told himself firmly. Halloween was still ahead, with plenty of time to put his plans into motion for a really great scary time. 

"Boy, it'll be great!"

He pulled that story out of its hiding place and curled up on the bunk in Newkirk's tailoring shop, and read through it again. Somehow, it wasn't nearly as much fun as he'd thought earlier; the scary parts were a lot more scary than he remembered. Some parts even had him looking over his shoulder, thinking he saw, maybe felt someone there, reaching out for him from the shadows. And, even though she'd never set foot in here, that funky perfume the Countess wore seemed to be trickling past his nose, making him wrinkle it in disgust. And that brought back uncomfortable traces of his dream from the night before, when Liliann stood there, smiling through a deep fog - those blood-red lips framing sharp teeth, lips headed for his own, her sharp-clawed hands reaching out to touch, stroke him. 

He shuddered, remembering his relief when, in that dream, Newkirk had suddenly slid down out of that top bunk, stood between them, and he gave an uncomfortable giggle at the vile words the Englishman had literally spat at the aristocratic woman. {"Wow! My mom would have washed his mouth out with soap for a whole DAY!"} he thought, but considering it was all in his defense, he kinda thought his mom MIGHT have made an exception. {"Yeah, I think she would have, for sure!"}

"Ei, Andrew. W'at are you up to? Not still thinking about some foolishness for 'alloween, are you? Though I guess if you are, I'll 'ave to give in and lend you a 'and. Likely come a cropper if I don't, knowing you," Newkirk said from the shadowy entrance. 

There was an indulgent smile on the Englishman's face, a smile that clearly contradicted the annoyed tone in his voice, and his eyes showed more than he let them show when anyone else was around. In fact, considering the dim light, he probably figured even Carter couldn't see, would have much preferred it that way, actually. That is, if Newkirk had been willing to acknowledge what that look revealed in the first place. And he probably wouldn't have; again, would have considered it highly damaging to his tough guy reputation. He had pretty much lost damn all else in this bloody war; he was going to hang onto that reputation by the tips of his fingernails if necessary. Even despite Andrew Carter and that odd effect the man had on him!

Carter smiled at Newkirk's words, the smile broadening as he took in that look. He couldn't have put a word, not one specific word, to that look - it seemed to combine affection and kindness, yeah, but there was more. Carter knew better than to ask; that would just get Newkirk's back up, make him put up that wall of his. So he wouldn't ask, he'd just bask in the warmth of that look, that smile. Somehow, the shadows didn't seem threatening anymore, more like they were holding the two in a blanket of warmth and security. He liked that a whole lot better, enough that he surreptitiously slid that little booklet under the folded blanket beside him.

"Nah, I decided to give up on that idea. I think you're right; we've had enough scary stuff for awhile. I know I sure have! Maybe the colonel will let us use the rec hall anyhow though. Maybe play some games? I bet we could string up some badminton nets and get up teams and everything! We could still paint the birdies orange and black in honor of it being Halloween. That'd be enough for this year, I think."

Newkirk frowned quizzically, zeroing in on one particular part. 

"You've 'ad enough scary stuff? Like w'at, in particular? Something bothering you, Andrew? You can tell me," he offered, laying a warm reassuring arm around Carter's shoulders.

Carter sighed with contment and beamed straight into those blue-green eyes. "Yeah, I know I could; that's why you're such a great friend. But, it's nothing I really want to talk about right now; it's kinda silly, even. About the Countess, you know? I had the weirdest dream last night. Anyhow, I don't want to talk about her. I'd rather you sing something, maybe Wild Mountain Thyme or Scarborough Fair, or something like that. No one would hear, not if you sang real soft. I'd really like that!"

No, he didn't want to talk about what he'd seen, thought he'd seen, when the Countess was there. He didn't want to think about it even. 

And as for that story, the one pretending all that could happen if all those bad things maybe came to visit, he was going to burn it first chance he got. He was pretty sure Lewis would understand, but even if he didn't, he didn't need that thing laying around for someone to find and have it give them nightmares. He'd decided Newkirk was probably right; there were enough things wandering around to give them nightmares, he didn't need to drum up any more.


	7. Germany - A Small House

"But surely we are going to stop for the night," the Countess insisted, her voice now harboring a bit of a whine. "Why not there??! I LIKE castles! So solid, so pleasing in design. So - private!"

Yes, definitely a whine.

It seems this Lieutenant Garrison had a serious stubborn streak, or perhaps he was just one of those men who disliked either asking for directions or taking the suggestions of a lady seriously. Neither were uncommon traits, unfortunately, she'd found.

"And I said no. We'll stop further along, in another couple of hours; the Underground has a place available. If we stop at this Burg Saaleck, we won't get to our pickup point in time. Come on, Countess. Let's get going." His voice, his manner, weren't unpleasant, but surely implacable, with no possibility of relenting even hinted at.

She pouted at him, her very prettiest, most winsome pout, but even that - a look that had brought even the stoutest of masculine wills to her command - it had zero effect. It didn't help her disposition to hear those sounds of amusement from the others. 

Well, THEY might think it amusing, but SHE didn't! And, one thing was for sure, she'd make them pay once they DID stop for the night! She could take her pleasure and let her partner find his own in the process, and usually did. But that was only out of sheer kindness on her part! She might not be Sybella, preferring to inflict pain and suffering, but that didn't mean she would allow her good nature to be taken advantage in such a rude manner! 

No, it was not NECESSARY that they enjoy the sharing with her; in fact, if they tried her patience any more, she could make it very unpleasant! Just see how amused they were by THAT!

"Come along, Countess. The Lieutenant don't like being kept waiting. Gets a bit stroppy; no sense getting on 'is rough side, not w'en we got such a long trip a'ead of us," offered the small blond man with the most cheeky, impertinent grin she had seen in a long time. Impertinence wasn't something the Moreau siblings usually encountered, and she wasn't in the least bit pleased by it now.

"Do not let him annoy you, Countess; he is a boorish individual, I am sorry to say. Here, walk beside me; I'll help you over any rough places," came the calm reassurances from the tall Italian. 

{"Well, at least SOMEONE knows how to treat a lady of quality! Of course, manners aren't everything. I imagine, even if the others are rough and somewhat rude, they will make it up to me when we finally DO stop for the night! Yes, I will make SURE of that!"}

On and on, long enough the Countess was beginning to wonder if they ever WOULD stop! Her feet ached, she was chilled from the night, annoyed at that long cloak Garrison had insisted she wear over her pretty scarlet brocade gown. Why, not only was it lacking in style, it wasn't even particularly clean! And just because he thought her gown too bright, too easily seen! Why, what was a fine gown FOR if not to be seen!

Still, eventually they did stop, at a small house tucked far back into the wooded countryside. 

"Here? You expect me to spend the night HERE?" she asked indignantly as Chief waved them through the door after he'd check the interior. The place offered few comforts, a few pieces of shabby furniture, shuttered windows, a stove that looked as if hadn't worked in years. Only the pile of blankets in the corner looked somewhat appealing, though the musty smell reached her even from where she stood.

"Princess . . . " Garrison started, wearily, looking around for where it would be best to park her for the night. Well, actually for the day, since dawn was only about an hour away. They'd be off and gone once darkness rolled in again, but as far as he was concerned, if she was asleep that meant she was silent, and he greatly preferred that to hearing her complain. He didn't know if she was truly dangerous, but she certainly was annoying as hell.

"It's COUNTESS, you buffoon!" she sputtered.

"Yes, sorry about that. Countess. This is where we're stopping. Get used to it," Garrison said dismissively. 

Oh, they COULD have stopped earlier, at that castle she'd been so eager to visit. It really wouldn't have messed up the exit timing all that much. Still, the men had discussed it, coming from where they'd stood gazing at that smiling portrait, and come to a consensus - whatever the Countess wanted probably wasn't such a good idea for THEM. So, instead, Garrison had refused her suggestion, pushed on to the abandoned house the Underground had directed them to.

They'd made a few other plans too, including at least two of the team being on guard at all times, never letting those supposedly holy objects away from their body, keeping a pocket full of salt just as close. They hadn't been able to come up with anything else, and admitted sheepishly they might just be letting an old painting wear on their nerves to the point of sheer foolishness. Still, none of them were eager to cast aside their feelings of unease; their intuition had saved their skins often enough for them to pay attention.

Chief and Casino took first guard, one at the window, one at the door. Garrison had nodded impatiently as Actor had suggested preparing a bed for the Countess on the bare wooden frame in the bedroom, accessible by an open doorway. The majority of the blankets were used in that endeavor, covering the rope springs to some degree of comfort, leaving only three for the men to share among themselves.

"Get some sleep, Countess, as much as you can," Actor said with a warm and reassuring smile. "You will be quite safe; Chief and Casino are quite competent guards, and the rest of us will not be sleeping soundly, I assure you."

She pushed her frown away, and gave him one of her sweetest smiles in return before taking off the cloak and settling herself gracefully on the makeshift bed. 

{"Oh, I think Chief and Casino will be a little less than competent guards tonight, and as for sleeping soundly, that is probably a matter of how you define such things!"}

Still, she lay there, resting, biding her time til she could tell at least three of the men were settled into a light sleep. Then, carefully, quietly, she rose and walked silently to the doorway. A soft exhaling and a fog filled the room, one that left Casino and Chief slumped to the floor, insensible, the other men now breathing far more deeply than before.

"Now, my pretties, who will be first,?" she murmured with a satisfied smile. "Don't all speak at once," she laughed softly. "Perhaps I won't punish you too much for your rudeness. After all, civility is often sadly lacking in those you meet while traveling; I really should adjust my expectations. 

"But I must admit I am not overly pleased with YOU, Lieutenant Garrison. You were supposed to be seeing not only to my safe transport, but also my comfort, and you have been most disobliging. Perhaps you and I might discuss that, find ways for you to pay penance for your inappropriate attitude. I promise I won't do TOO much damage; after all, I do need you to get me to this pick-up point. I've never experienced travel by submarine before; I am quite looking forward to that."

She stepped across the bare floor to where Garrison was slumped in an armchair with tattered cloth covering the musty cushions. "Come, Lieutenant, the bed might be a poor substitute for the one I am accustomed to, but it will suffice. I certainly think you would prefer it to that chair. Come," she coaxed the sleeping man.

Garrison shifted uneasily, his hand grasping at the chains around his neck, clenching on the holy objects there.

"My, my, what DO you have there?" Liliann laughed. "Did you really think those would protect you? And salt? I am not a witch, or a sprite, or some weak creature to be turned away by such things! Come!" she repeated, her voice now commanding him rather than urging him to her.

"Leave 'im the ruddy 'ell alone!" The words came as a snarl. She recognized the voice and she whirled, thinking the small Englishman had somehow avoided her power. But no, that impertinent man was still curled up on a bench along the wall, facing into the room, but eyes firmly closed. She noted he also wore those silly chains and tokens of superstition, and also carried the astringent odor of salt, and now she realized they ALL were similarly equipped. Useless, of course, at least against one of her sort, but showing a degree of forethought she had not been expecting.

She shrugged, wondering if the voice was her imagination, part of being weary from the long walk. Stepping closer to the lieutenant, she reached out a hand to physically encourage him to rise, go with her, but the sudden heat, the snap of static electricity biting at her fingers made her gasp.

A quick glance into the man's mind brought into clear view the image of the blond Englishman, the same one sleeping so soundly across the small room. She made note that he was no more polite in this form than she'd noted previously.

"Said to leave 'im the ruddy 'ell alone. 'E aint for your tampering with!" and Liliann almost whimpered in sheer frustration. Another one??! And, it seems, a connection that removed not one, but TWO of the men from her hands! 

{"Oh, fiddle! Perhaps I'm just reading that wrong! Perhaps if I try just a little harder, or perhaps approach the other one first!"} she thought in desperation.

The snarl that now filled the room was similar to the one she'd heard back in that cold barracks, the one coming from that she-wolf, but there was a difference, a hissing behind the snarl, one that firmly suggested she pay heed to the warning being given. Carefully Liliann turned in the direction of the man sleeping on the bench, reaching out to touch his mind, his heart, and wanted to throw herself down in a tantrum, something she hadn't indulged in for many a year. 

Garrison! And not the smiling, carefully-controlled Garrison she knew, but one exhibiting a level of emotion she would never have guessed he was capable of. There were no words spoken, but the sheer fury in his green eyes told her she'd not brush him away no matter how hard she tried. 

And then, forming alongside? The source of that threatening sound? Another figure, oddly shaped in the forming, recognizable only when the process was completed.

Not a she-wolf this time, but a dragon. Well, first a dragon, then a red-haired woman in barbarian warrior's attire, then morphing back to a dragon once again. Only the eyes remained the same, gold-brown, glittering as if a multitude of fireflies dwelt within.

{"Mine,"} came the calm words, heard if unspoken. 

Liliann frowned petulantly. "Yours? Really? I got the impression he was the Lieutenant's, or vice-versa perhaps? Perhaps you are being betrayed. Surely one who would betray you like that isn't worth protecting. Perhaps a little time with me and they will come to appreciate you a little more." 

Liliann figured it was a long-shot, but worth trying. The wry amusement in the warrior's eyes told her she had been unsuccessful.

"Mine, his, theirs, ours - whatever, they are beyond your touch, lady," and while the soft laugh was not unkind, even bore a modicum of womanly understanding for Liliann's frustration, neither did it give a hint of weakness, of uncertainty.

"Of all the things! Could my luck GET any worse??!"

Seemingly so, for it took no more than another minute or two to discover that the two supposedly on guard were also out of her reach, and for the same reason. True love. Oh, in their case it was unacknowledged, truly understood only by one, vigorously denied by the other - unimportant, all of that. It was what it was, and formed a shield against her, and it would not let her lure them, touch them as she sought.

Whirling in frustration, she scanned the last man, Actor, and sighed in relief. {"At last! Not what I had hoped for, certainly not a feast, but at least SOMETHING for my trouble!"}

And it was not a feast, for she dared not let it be one. After all, they had to walk out of there come darkfall, and it wouldn't do for the man to be so weak as to not manage that. After all her disappointments on this trip, she had no intention of giving up that submarine ride! She had to have SOMETHING exciting to share with Sybella!


	8. England - London

A few days later the Countess was fuming as she repeated that earlier phrase to herself. 

{"Let the good times roll - or begin - or whatever!! Gaaaaaaaaa!"}

Well, so much for that! This whole vacation had been 'quite a bummer!', as she'd heard that young person on the street remark with such disgust. No, she wasn't totally sure of the precise meaning, but the expression seemed to fit somehow, recalling the look on the person's face.

Even that submarine ride! She hadn't been sure what she had been expecting, but certainly something more ethereal than what had been the reality. Instead of a magical ride in a translucent bubble through a blue sea, viewing all the sea creatures in their natural environment, as she'd halfway imagined would be the case, what did she get? Jammed into a tiny cubicle in a smelly, noisy monstrosity, not allowed to step foot out to meet the men who worked this machine. There hadn't even been a window!!! Between Garrison and his stern words to the man in charge, and that man's refusal to allow what he called 'any disruption of the routine', she'd been stuck staring at a metal wall the entire uncomfortable journey.

Once they reached London, she'd briefly met with that Major Johns, had a quick if not particularly satisfying snack from the man, and then slipped away to find Cousin Morticia and explain crisply that 'Tish' shouldn't 'give up her day job' in order to become a 'travel influencer'! 

"For I must tell you, dear cousin, you have absolutely NO aptitude for it, whatever it is! Not if THIS is the best you can do!"

No, Tish didn't HAVE a 'day job', of course, but that seemed to be the way such things were phrased, and it did successfully communicate Liliann's frustration. In fact, she couldn't believe she'd come out from her comfortable castle in Transylvania for THIS! She hadn't racked up so many losses in she couldn't remember how long!!! 

Oh, it was easy for some to say, that OTHER quaint phrase she'd heard so recently! 'Win some, lose some' was a tidy cliche, perhaps, but for the Countess Liliann Moreau, it was starting to grate on her nerves. Before now, she could have counted on the fingers of her left hand (AND had fingers left over!) how many she'd 'lost' in any hundred year span! 

And why the change? That totally annoying, highly disappointing trend that seemed to have so unexpectly caught on, and in such diverse individuals!

'True love', the ONE thing that could place a firm check on her amusements! Some days she cursed the unknown Old One who had placed such restrictions on her kind. And for what? Petty revenge for a little innocent tasting of someone that selfish personnage had considered HERS and HERS alone! Some people obviously had never been taught that it was only polite to share! The uncomfortable image of that she-wolf and that dragon came to mind; there were another two who obviously had never learned to share!

And it wasn't even the sort of curse that would force her to turn away only if the one suffering from that so-called 'true love' held up their hand in noble rejection of what she and her kind offered! No, it was the mere EXISTENCE of that annoying tie - acknowledged or not, REALIZED or not! - that caused the barrier to go up! Imagine that! The person could be totally unaware, could be thoroughly in favor of a little erotic encounter, and STILL Liliann and her brothers and sister would be thwarted!

Just how unfair was that, placing NO burden of resistance on the one so afflicted! What ever happened to that ever-so-convenient concept of 'free will'? At least Liliann had found that notion ever so convenient (if slightly hysterical), considering the lack of strength that 'will' seemed to embody! 

Just how many times had she and Sybella and the others laughed at how quickly a resolute and dramatic "No, no, a thousand times NO!!" had turned to an eager "Yes, YES! Oh, god, PLEASE, YES!!".

Everywhere she'd turned on this benighted vacation, there it was, that 'true love'! and sometimes not even in a form she'd encountered more than once or twice before! She'd shrugged off that first rejection, thinking it an aberration, but no, it appeared not!!!

You would think the Old One who had so cursed them with all those rules would have made a few exceptions! Vacations should certainly qualify, if at no other time than in October! Why, it had purely ruined her idea of a lovely Halloween!

{"Wait. Is it Halloween? Or was it Halloween? Or is it yet to come?"}

Suddenly Liliann wasn't sure about the date, much less all of those 'time zones' she'd heard about, and besides she wasn't sure it mattered so much. Didn't they say that 'Halloween' was a state of mind? {"Or was that California?"} Anyway, it really wasn't all that important; she'd never needed to see a particular date on the calendar to have a little fun. 

Oh, well. It had been largely a disappointing experience, the whole vacation, of course, but she did have plans for that big party at the castle and who knew how much of a disaster it would be if she left matters to Sybella and those idiot brothers of theirs! Sybella would have the floors running with blood, which would keep the servants busy for days afterwards, and Liliann still remembered her brothers' guests LAST time! That voodoo priestess was nice enough, rather a kindred spirit, but that snake of hers that got loose and kept slithering around for weeks afterwards had been a total nuisance. Well, Liliann never had been much in favor of pets in the house.

No, she needed to accept the situation and just 'pack it in', or was it 'pack it up', (the latter to her mind making much more sense), and head home, disappointment and all. 

And it HAD been a disappointment, start to finish! She was certainly writing Stalag 13 off her list of possible vacation spots; there had been little that appealed - or at least, anything that was available!

However, for Lieutenant Garrison and his team, she was willing to stretch a point or two in a good cause, enough to perhaps give them another chance. At least to the point of 'making reservations in advance', noting in her little appointment book that NEXT October she fully intended to spend some 'quality time' with Lieutenant Craig Garrison and his friends. They had SUCH potential! And maybe all that 'true love' nonsense would be out of their systems by then. Hopefully so. After all, she couldn't expect the Italian to once again carry the entire night by himself! {"Of course, with the luck I've been having, I'll find HE'S come down with a case of it himself!!"}

As for now, she was looking forward to a nice long stay at the castle - she positively yearned for a hot bubble bath and a glass of enhanced wine! Then a long, long nap. Later, she might try what she'd heard was called a 'do-over'. Next year. Or the year after. Maybe longer. It depended on how long it took for her to regain her enthusiasm and get over her snit.

Before then, however, before she headed home, she needed a good long sit-down with someone who would understand her frustration, someone with an understanding ear and a shoulder to absorb some tears of frustration. She needed what the magazines called a 'BFF' a Best Female Friend, a 'confidante', someone to hear her complaints, someone to 'dish the dirt' with, though she wasn't sure that was exactly right. Actually it sounded rather distasteful, so perhaps she had that part wrong. But someone to talk to about this whole disappointing interval? Yes, that she needed.

And she thought she knew just which someone that could be - that image from the blond Englishman's mind had been quite specific, even down to the probable location of that potential confidante. Maybe that stern and rather fierce young woman, the one with such a firm place in that man's mind and heart, she might be just the person, the right someone who might understand, might even be able to explain to her just how things could have gone so wrong!


	9. England - Brandonshire - The Cottage

She flounced in through the kitchen door without knocking - as if she'd been there a thousand times and sure of her welcome, taking Meghada completely by surprise.

{"Damnation! Of all the cottages in all the world, she has to walk into mine! Aren't I just the lucky one??!! Well, I KNEW those wards were becoming a little weak. But HER? The Countess? She looks just like the guys described her, too. There goes the plan for putting up that basket of plums into jam this afternoon!"}. 

From the petulant look on the woman's face, Meghada just knew she was in for a long session of listening. She'd seen that look before, with Julie, with Lynn, with Rebecka, and various others; just how she had become the confidante of choice for frustrated females, she had NO idea! 

{"Maybe I should start a column for the lovelorn in the London papers. It could bring in a little income, and at least might keep them out of my kitchen."}

Still, she knew her manners, no matter how her father teased that she'd never really learned any. 

"Countess Moreau," she said with a polite nod, acknowledging that she recognizing her visitor.

That had been an interesting afternoon with the guys, she thought ruefully, first hearing all about the Countess, along with their success with that icon. While she had the feeling there were things unsaid, particularly by the surprisingly quiet and wan-faced Italian, she figured she'd hear the rest eventually. Later, when Craig had headed off to London to meet with Major Kingston on some new endeavor, she'd been privileged to hear about the little shopping spree the guys had managed to fit into the dual mission. It sounded like the retirement fund, even without that Rublev icon Actor had so reluctantly handed over to Major Richards, had just had a major boost. The mention of "really freaky dreams" by Casino had been rewarded with cautious side-glances from the others, and the few words the others had added had confirmed her impression that the Countess entered into those rather heavily. 

Liliann, Countess Moreau, was obviously put out about something; her pretty mouth was pursed into a moue that would surely have caused wrinkles, if she hadn't been immune to such.

"You look stressed. Things not going so well, Countess? Here, let me get you some tea, or perhaps something stronger, and you can tell me all about it!"

Meghada wouldn't have made that offer as confidently if the men had been anywhere around, but everyone was off retrieving some of the Romanov jewels from an entrepreneural type in Milan; she wasn't sure what that had to do with the war effort, but Garrison wouldn't have been involved if it wasn't, she knew that. The guys, yes, but not Garrison.

{"Dear Craig, he has instructions to round up all the missing pieces this time; it seems Major Kingston think Venters has the lot, for some odd reason. Well, good luck with that one, Craig! At least with making a clean sweep! I doubt the Grandmother is willing to give up the pieces she has in HER collection!"}. 

Still, that was one place she had no intention of placing herself, between that particular rock and that hard place, as there was no winning in view, at least to her mind. Hopefully whatever odd trinkets Goniff and the guys came home with this time wouldn't show up on the Interpol Hot Sheets; Craig got so annoyed when that happened. When and if he found out, that is, and luckily at least THAT was a rare occurrence.

Liliann sighed petulantly, then nodded as graciously as she could manage. Frankly, it wasn't all that gracious, but Meghada tried to make allowances. She had some difficulties in that area herself at times, and she really WAS curious about the reason for this visit.

"Refreshment would be most welcome. But I would prefer wine - red, of course, something reasonably palatable," though by the doubtful look she cast around the simple kitchen, she rather doubted her hostess would be able to come up with anything drinkable to one of her sophisticated palate.

"Of course. I believe we have something you might enjoy," Meghada answered, reading that look correctly. She headed to the hallway and its sliding panel that concealed a budding wine selection. So Actor would be a little miffed, that being an exceptionally fine, rich Bordeaux he had already placed in the proper position to aid in the decanting upon his return, (not being sure it would be there if the Base boffins made an inspection while the team was out and gone), but one didn't entertain a centuries-old Countess every day.

She uncorked the bottle, gently tilting it to avoid any sediment, poured two servings into the glasses Actor had been insistent upon purchasing and keeping at the Cottage. 

Meghada still remembered the hissy he'd thrown when she'd offered her whiskey glasses for that purpose. Oh, it had been a very dignified hissy, of course, but a hissy, nevertheless. 

"One does not serve a fine wine in WHISKEY glasses, my dear Meghada! It simply isn't done! How can one truly appreciate the bouquet, the depths . . . . ". Etc, etc, ad nauseam. It had been quite the display, most amusing, but for the future, it had seemed simpler to just accept his gift of a set of special glasses than to hear that put-upon sigh and lecture every time a bottle was opened. Of course, Goniff still insisted on drinking HIS from a whiskey glass, just for the reaction he knew he'd get, but that was just Goniff. Most went along with Actor and his pretensions, if only to keep the lectures to the shorter version.

The regal nod of approval from the Countess seemed to indicate she approved of both the wine and the glass in which it was served, and they settled down to a comfortable coze.

It didn't take long before Meghada knew she'd been right. The Countess was, for lack of a better word, stressed. All in all, the Countess was not batting a thousand, and she was NOT taking it well! She, who, according to HER, had a track record that far outstripped the competition, including her annoying brother Oran with all the females he'd fed upon, had come up short on her latest excursion, one she was bemoaning as 'such a lost opportunity, a total waste of time and effort, and it seemed the Halloween season would be so ideal!'. 

And it wasn't only being thwarted that had the Countess all atwitter. For a creature to whom only true love could prove a deterrent, could shield her target from her, she was not just annoyed but indignant at the circumstances surrounding her defeat. The circumstances, the individuals, the frequency, and everything else. It had so rarely happened before, and now, every time she turned around . . . 

Meghada sipped at her own wine, nodded sympathetically, listening but only enough to keep track of the one-sided conversation in case it should turn dangerous. Frankly, she REALLY was more interested in those plums waiting to be processed than listening to the woman's complaints.

And complain she did, about any number of things, all centered around her recent disappointments. Meghada let her mind wander, catching bits and pieces of a monologue that seemed as if it would never end.

"Well, females, perhaps that is more understandable . . . so many self-delusions . . .absolute stranger in their bedchamber, middle of the night and their first thought is 'romance', 'forever afters'? . . . really, from my brothers, my father? How rich!!"

Meghada refrained from looking at the clock, even that basket of plums, though she did heartily wish she had thought to put the bourbon bottle and a whiskey glass on the table along with the wine. Wine just didn't do the job, not for this! 

"Never mind that earlier in the day they were swearing eternal love, or at least a reasonable amount of faithfulness, to some man! All of a sudden, when Vladnar or Oran show up by their bed, THEN . . . ! Pleeeaze!"

Meghada blinked, realizing the subject had made a switch while she was deciding whether part of those plums might not be reserved for a salted plum tart; she knew Goniff would approve of that. Now it seemed the Countess was bemoaning something else.

"Never thought they had the capacity, considering all that 'courtly love' that was so prattled about at one time. I saw what those gallant knights and courtiers got up to, and I can assure you . . ."

Meghada risked a glance at the clock and silently groaned. Could an afternoon GO any slower? So far, contrary to her expectations, this had not been in the least amusing! {"Maybe if I focus a little more on what she is saying?"} Meghada reprimanded herself.

"That damnable curse! Like a burning wall, forcing me back! Even when he is willing, body and mind, the curse will not allow me! It isn't fair, I tell you! Why now? In the past, how often were we thrust aside? How often do you see a three-winged bird, or a flower that grows legs and walks about? Only a little less common were those, I can assure you of that!"

No, it seemed the Countess didn't deal overly well with being thwarted, and she was nowhere finished with her lamenting, as Meghada noted the hands on the clock continuing their steady motion. {"Those plums may have to wait til tomorrow, it looks like."}. She pulled herself back, focusing on the woman now pacing the floor.

"Of course, there were a few, a very few, who truly possessed (or were possessed by) that 'true love'. Only a few times where the shield was raised even where they had no knowledge of it, would have been willing to indulge. But ONLY a very few, I assure you! And all female - well, almost all! 

"And in the one or two males, I've always suspected it was just an allergy on my part, perhaps their bloodlines. But truly, it wasn't a problem - it wasn't as if it showed up for any of us but perhaps once every hundred, even five hundred years, you know!"

She pouted and heaved an indignant sigh. "At least, that's the way we've always FOUND it! Until recently! Now, all of a sudden, it's popping up everywhere, and never a hint until you're so close you feel the burn of it! Even THEY are unaware in many cases, which really is ironic, you know - giving up a heated interlude with ME for something, someone, some EMOTION they are not even fully conscious of!"

The Countess was openly seething now, had swallowed that last mouthful of wine with far less appreciation than that vintage truly deserved. {"Actor would have been appalled!"}

{"Yes, she's really and truly annoyed,"} Meghada thought, a little uneasy about all that ill-humor inside the cottage. Oh, well, if the place could withstand one of her OWN hissy fits, she supposed it could tolerate one from the Countess! For that was what was coming, from all appearances.

Meghada knew better than to laugh, though she really, really wanted to. She managed to keep a sympathetic look on her face, even reaching out to pour the Countess another glass of wine to help her drown her sorrows - or at least her pent-up frustration. Liliann took the opportunity to shift directions slightly.

"'Hogan' is hardly a Transylvanian name! Still, his taste was very bitter, acrid, very much like 'family'. A man should taste sweet, don't you agree? Sweet as honey, strong and rich as espresso, with just a hint of spice! With HIM, I was reminded of nothing so much as the time I accidentally took a bite out of Oran when we were attempting that pair of twins!

"And the most puzzling thing is . . . Of all of these men, only TWO of those 'true love' shields involved females! The Frenchman with his 'Marya', and the German with his Gretchen - and that last one, she was his wife, if you can believe that! Who on earth has his true love as wife, I ask you that??! Well, only two other than you and that she-wolf! The others were men, though they were, some of them, too stubborn to admit what they felt, were still pretending there was only friendship between them! Baahh! As if I can't recognize true love when I encounter it, no matter WHAT someone ELSE chooses to call it!

"I admit to some curiosity if my brothers are running into a similar problem on their outings. Of course, they'd probably deny the whole thing. Well, you know how brothers are, anything to be annoying."

The urge to laugh was almost unbearable now, watching the totally-bewildered look on the ancient female's face.

Meghada cleared her throat and fought to maintain a serious demeanor while she made some sort of a response since it appeared the Countess was, for the first time, expecting something of that nature from her. {"A nice cliche? A bit of motherly advice? What would be best?"}. She decided on a combination of the two.

"Perhaps you've just had a run of bad luck, Countess. You know, like they say, 'wrong place, wrong time, wrong man.'

"Perhaps what you need is a nice long nap to refresh yourself," she offered. "My mother always said 'a nice glass or two of something worth the effort, followed by a hot soak in a deep and sweetly-scented bath, then a nice long nap on clean sheets and in a comfortable bed can make almost any problem easier to bear', and she was probably right. She is about a great many things, you know."

Liliann, Countess Moreau, sighed and reached out to pour another helping of the wine, draining the bottle except for the remaining sediment. 

"Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I should take a nap - oh, not long, just thirty or forty or so of your years. By the time I awaken again, perhaps the entire concept of 'true love' will disappear into the ashes, no matter WHAT the format. That certainly is where I'd like to consign the entire notion! Why, I remember . . . "

Off on another roll, the afternoon groaned by, moment by painful moment, requiring a second bottle of fine wine, and finally, clutching yet a third bottle in her hand, the Countess departed. Meghada knew she'd answer for those bottles of missing wine when Actor took inventory, but still, found she could not regret the experience. It had been, in retrospect, an amusing afternoon, and with any luck, by the time the Countess awoke from her refreshing little nap, she would be someone else's problem. 

"Maybe the wine will even encourage her to turn that thirty or forty years into something quite a bit longer," Meghada commented to herself as she cleared away the empty bottle and glasses to make room for that basket of plums and the paraphernalia associated with their preparation. "Yes, that really would be best."

Then she shrugged and got back to the more important things in life, like whether Goniff would prefer his salted plum tart with or without hazelnuts.

**Author's Note:**

> With a brief nod to 'The Adams Family', of course!


End file.
